Every Little Thing

25

|| Reed ||

The last thing I expect her to do is fall asleep on my shoulder, but that's precisely what happens. At first I don't notice, but when her breathing evens out and I notice that she's kind of slumping into me, I realize that she's tuckered out.

I bite back a smile. Evelyn looks different when she sleeps. Less stressed, more innocent. Youthful, almost.

Oh, God, please don't wake up, I silently urge her, The last thing I need is for you to think I'm some kind of creep.

Swallowing hard, I turn from her, pretending not to notice. The world outside of the subway is dark and noisy, with the bright, white lights above us flickering as we bump along, the cart making a racket on its way through the tunnels. Every once and a while, there's a turn and I am able to see the outside world, with the city lights slowly fading away and the only noise I can hear is my heartbeat, in the silence of the car, with Evelyn's breathing a soft whisper.

At one point, I contemplate waking her up, just for mere company, but I decide against it. I dragged her all the way out here with me; the least I can do is allow her an hour's rest.

So I pull out She and start to reread it instead. And when I get to the part on the bridge—the part that I had intended on recreating—I have to stop myself and take a breath. I wanted to do it. I wanted to kiss her so goddamn badly.

But I couldn't.

Not because of that cop. Even after he left, I knew I still had a chance. A chance that I didn't take.

Why didn't I take that chance?

I don't know. Hell if I know.

"I'm sorry, Evelyn," I say then, my voice a raw murmur. I glance down, just to see if she was listening. A part of me is relieved when I find that she's still asleep, dark lashes spread from closed eyelids, her hair mussed and tangled as she continues to breathe, in and out, in and out, in and out.

I laugh to myself and whisper, "One of these days I'm going to tell you when you're awake to listen. Deal?"

I wait for an answer that I know is not going to come and lean back into my seat, adjusting my earbuds so that the one she was using falls from her ear. She mumbles something incomprehensible and shifts, her arms latching around my own as if to keep herself steady. A shock goes through me and I smile. Even though it isn't a conscious effort, it's nice to know that she's at least somewhat aware of my presence.

That, somewhere in the depths of her sleep, somewhere between the layers of thoughts and REM cycles and dreams, I am here, and she knows it.

________

Evelyn wakes up with thirty minutes left on the trip back to Atlantic City, her eyes blurry and squinted under the lights.

"Hey, there," I say, unsticking my voice from the back of my throat. "Feeling okay?"

"Yeah," she replies, her voice slightly gravelly, "Oh, my God, did I fall asleep on you?"

I try to fight back a grin and lift an innocent shoulder. "My arm does make an excellent pillow."

At this, she groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I'm so sorry."

I almost laugh at the sincerity in her tone. "Evelyn, it's nothing. Seriously."

She gives a weak, unconvincing laugh and leans back. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I tend to, um..." she trails off, shaking her head with a timid laugh. "I guess I just latch onto the nearest object when I'm asleep. I have since I was little."

"Really," I say, raising my brows. "And how do you think this little habit of imprisoning people in your sleep began?"

She swats at my arm, but laughs anyways.

"Oh, I don't know. My mom says it's because she would always give me a big, stuffed rabbit when I was little. I couldn't sleep without it in my arms, and I guess it just stuck. I grew out of the rabbit, of course, but I haven't quite been able to erase the habit of the whole latching-onto-things."

"Sounds problematic."

Evelyn makes a vague noise of assent, laughing to herself as she says, "It is. In eighth grade, I had to sit next to the superintendent, Mrs. Bean, on the bus on the way back from a field trip, and—"

"No," I breathe, for the sake of dramatics, but she laughs anyways, loudly.

"I was practically cuddling her," she says, shuddering. "It was the most embarrassing thing that's happened to me. Ever."

"You'd better be glad I wasn't attending our school at the time; I might not have even talked to you after knowing that story."

"Oh, shut up," she replies, tone jovial. "Eventually, you would've caved."

"Yeah," I say, quieter than intended, "I would've."

She hears me and looks up with a sad little smile, and I know that now is the time. That right here, right now, on this bus-is the time.

Do it, I tell myself, Do it, you goddamn idiot.

"Evelyn," I say, my voice almost a whisper. Her big, dark eyes look up to meet mine. Her entire face breaks out into an involuntary smile.

"Reed," she replies playfully, but I don't laugh. I don't even move.

I just look at her. And she looks at me.

I can't do it.

I swallow hard, swallow my disappointment, my frustration. I lift my lips in what I hope looks like a convincing smile.

"Nothing. Get some rest."

I see something within her gaze recede as well. Her chest deflates, and she smiles back, although it's watery and thin.

"Okay."

This time, she eases herself carefully back in the seat, and I notice that her hands are a good few feet away from my arm. I know she's trying to keep herself from latching to me, but I don't want that. I don't want that for a single second.

"C'mere," I say. "I'll be your stuffed rabbit."

She laughs her loud, embarrassing laugh that always makes me smile. Shaking her head at me, she inches over, loops her arms around my own, and sets her head in the middle of my chest.

"Goodnight, Reed," she whispers.

"Goodnight, Evelyn," I say, and that's that.

Dammit.