Page 111 of My Unfinished Heart

“Well, that’s reassuring. I guess I’ll be able to read between the lines if I ever come over, and my toothbrush mysteriously disappears.”

“Shut up, angel. Do you not feel my hand?” I move it between his ass cheeks with emphasis.

He draws in a short gasp at the reminder. His head drops forward and hits my chest. His thighs shake. His hands dig into my shoulders. “If it’s too much trouble, I could always just bring my own toothbrush,” he says breathlessly against my skin.

“If you want to keep talking, you should put on some clothes.”

“No, I’ll be quiet, I’ll be quiet… Oh…God…” He groans as I flatten my hand on his ass to make sure he feels how hard I am for him.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re not seventeen anymore,” I say as I maneuver him backwards, out of the kitchen. “I would feel absolutely terrible for what I’m about to do to you.”

So.

Sharing.

It’s a Kindergarten lesson.

I never got to go to Kindergarten because my mom kept me pretty busy feeding off my total helplessness. She wasn’t ready to part with her only source of sustenance so soon, I guess, so I lack some fundamental basics. Sharing is a tough one for me. Then, once I lost my blanket, I avoided getting attached to things, as I’ve mentioned. So being forced to share the one thing I’ve let myself truly want in all this time—it’s a bitch.

As happy as I am to have Tristan back in my life—and I am—happier than I’ve been in twenty-eight years, sharing him with my invisible brother makes me an irritable pain in the ass.

My life is now an exercise in waiting. The words “I’ll talk to you later” become the ugliest words in English. It’s like being in a doctor’s office when they finally call you out of the waiting room—and you’re elated like—fuck yeah, they picked me! Then you get put in a small, enclosed room where you have no idea how long it will be until someone comes in to see you. At least in the waiting room you had some idea of the order of things—the pace of people coming and going. In the exam room you lose perspective and your sense of the passage of time. You worry that they might have forgotten all about you.

It can drive a person crazy.

Near midnight on the following Thursday, I’m on my couch, nodding off during a late night show because I’ve run out of things to do around the house when Tristan graces me with a knock on my door.

Five days.

It’s been five full days since he found Gretchen’s toothbrush. I haven’t seen him since he left my house that morning. Occasionally, I think he was just some fantasy my mind cooked up. But then he’ll text or call, and he’ll make me smile, and I’ll forget for a few minutes what life is even like without him.

Tonight, he throws himself at me when I let him in, holding me tight, and pressing his lips against my neck. I breathe in the vanilla spice scent of him and forget my frustration for a moment.

I bury my hands in his hair, grabbing onto his head. I bend to kiss him with urgency. If there were some way to swallow him—to merge him with me—I would do it. All the years of denying how I feel about him are catching up. I need him. Like I fucking have to have him, and not seeing him is unacceptable.

He has to pull away to catch his breath. “Hi.”

“Where have you been?” I ask, not proud of how distressed I sound.

“Home,” he says.

“It's been five days.”

“I know.”

“That’s okay with you?” I ask.

He sighs and lets go of me. Now that I’m looking at him, I notice he didn’t dress up. He showed up in running shorts and a big t-shirt that looks like it might have once belonged to some other guy. His eyes are puffy. He looks exhausted.

“Archer, please don't. I just got here. I really miss you.” He tugs at the hem of my shirt, mindlessly.

“Sorry,” I say. “This is what I mean by tormented. You haven’t told him?”

“Told Connor about us?” He laughs as though it’s the most ridiculous question ever. “No. Come here.” He reaches for my face.

“You’re changing the subject,” I say, but I’m unable to resist the temptation of his mouth.

His kiss becomes a full body experience for a few minutes leaving no doubt he was being honest when he said he missed me.