turnpike

ii

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I don't realize how adrift I've felt until I step into his bedroom.

It's like returning to shore after being lost at sea, finally able to put my feet on stable, solid ground. I've been redelivered to the one constant in my life, although I have to wonder if I was safer out on the waters.

We've been apart for three weeks, but this space looks exactly like it did the last night I was here. The California king he's sprawled across is still a mess of white cotton, and not a single item of clothing draped across the chair in the corner has been taken out of their dry-cleaning bags.

Everything in here is unchanged, but I can't say the same for us.

But there was never any 'us', was there?

I thought I knew where we stood, both as individuals and as participants in this mockery of a relationship. He was a Pi Sig with a girlfriend he'd end up marrying one day, and I was just an unaffiliated piece of ass he was destined to get bored of. It took seven months, but the latter finally happened.

The boredom has obviously faded, because here I am again, standing in the doorway to his bedroom as I wait for my next command. I mastered come a long time ago, and now it's time for stay.

I don't move from where I'm standing until he acknowledges that I've decided to remain here with him. He does so with a lifted eyebrow, and I take that as my cue to close the bedroom door behind me.

With the light from the hallway gone, there's just enough illumination coming in through the panoramic windows to make my way over to the left side of the bed. The right side is closer to the wall of glass that overlooks the quiet city we call home, and he's claimed it as his own. The windows make me uneasy, so I don't mind that he prefers to sleep there. He makes me feel protected in this glass house, although I must be careful not to throw stones.

"You better have locked the front door."

I've grown used to the way he speaks in threats, thinking almost nothing of it on most occasions, but tonight I wonder if he's ever talked to Callie this way. I'm far too curious over why they've broken up, and part of me thinks it's because he's slipped up in this manner one too many times.

I force myself to forgive him for what he says, and even what he does, but she is not me, and I am not her, and we cannot be treated as the same.

"I did," I lie, because I know if I go do it now, I may just walk out. "Mind if I borrow a shirt?"

"Why do you still bother asking?" he mumbles, rolling over onto his stomach. "You know where they are."

I still bother because it keeps an important distance between us. I may find myself here most days out of the week, but this is not my home, and I can't allow myself to think it ever will be.

I shed my clothes, leaving me standing there in just a bra and a thong, but he's not watching. The subtle rejection sinks in my stomach, but I know I should find his lack of attention a blessing. It means we're slowly severing ties, going back to the way things used to be before all of this started.

His top dresser drawer is already ajar when I reach for it. He keeps all the Pi Sigma Theta shirts he's collected over his four years in there, and I grab a crimson and gold tee at random. It's one of his favorites, so I pull it on without hesitation. I may not be able to hold his attention tonight, but at least I can keep some small part of him close to me.

He doesn't try to start something when I crawl into bed, and I don't reach out for him. It's up to him to make the first move, leaving me to lie back and do as I'm told.