A homeless thief breaks into a house that has nothing worth stealing - except for the heart of a lonely man who is obsessed with time.
*****
Blake has been living on the streets for...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
-Blake-
"Yes?" I repeated with a smile, and he nodded in enthusiasm.
"Yes," he repeated, turning to look outside, but his smile suddenly trembled. "I... I do want to..."
His fear was slowly returning, so I hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek to get him to focus on me.
"Do you remember how cool the grass feels compared to the hot summer air?" I murmured in his ear.
"No," he whispered. "But I'd like to remember."
"Good," I replied, stepping in front of him. "We still have a few hours before anyone comes home, so we can take our time."
He nodded slowly while keeping his eyes on mine. I took his hands in mine and stepped in the middle of the doorway while keeping a soothing smile on my face. I knew he could do this. He had grown so strong he was able to do anything he wanted. He had overcome so many obstacles already, and so many of those obstacles had turned out to be just minor inconveniences.
The problem was his thoughts. That irrational, paralyzing pattern he had held onto for so many years because he never received the care he'd needed after his childhood trauma. Sometimes he still held onto those thoughts tightly. He had learned to find comfort in other places now, but he still fell back to seeking reassurance from those thoughts. I couldn't blame him. Those thoughts had given him his only sense of security during the past seventeen years. It wasn't easy to let go of them.
Just like it wasn't easy for him to remember that stepping out into his own backyard wasn't dangerous. That doing something different wasn't dangerous.
Jordan glanced at something behind me, and I could see doubt in his eyes.
"What is bothering you?" I asked quietly.
"That I freak out," he replied.
"And what would happen if you freak out?" I asked, keeping a smile on my face.
"I'd become violent. I'd black out. I'd stop breathing, and I'd die."
His hold on my hands grew tighter as he spoke.
"Will that happen?" I continued asking.
He hesitated, but then shook his head. "I'll just faint if I stop breathing."
"And then?"
"And I'll continue breathing. Then I wake up."
"What would make you freak out?"
He took a deep breath. "I would make myself freak out by fearing I'll freak out."
"Will you make yourself freak out?"
Again, he hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he said sternly. "I haven't freaked out in months."
"Indeed, and I'm so proud of you," I told him and stepped in front of him to kiss him. "Are you still bothered?"
