What It Seems | Wattys 2023

Chapter 33

"Baylor," I croaked.

His chest vibrated in response, "Yeah?"

"I want you to open up to me. You said that we were friends before I lost everything. I want to get to know you like I have before," I blurted.

"What do you want to know?" he proposed. There were millions of questions floating in my head, but only two stuck out. But for right now, I'm only sticking with the first one.

"Why did you leave Boston? I mean, I know that you hated it and you told me why, but I know there's one specific reason why you left," I asserted. The atmosphere around us seemed like it sucked the breath out of me. I didn't know if it was the wrong time to ask, but we're in a relationship, and when you're in a relationship, you tell the one you're with everything, right?

I didn't want him to get mad, saying "I already told you before, I don't want I say it again." But he didn't.

"After leaving to Boston, everything went downhill with my parents," Baylor paused for what seemed like an eternity.

"It's okay, you don't have to go further if you aren't comfortable with the subject," I promised.

"No, it's not that. It's just humiliating to talk about," he stated.

"Then you don't have to tell me. Tell me when you're ready."

He shuffled a little bit, and while he did, I could tell he was trying to figure out his thoughts.

"Will you come lay with me in bed? I'd be more comfortable there," he implored with a throaty tone.

"Yeah." I followed him to his bedroom. The den/hangout area was somewhat ghostly due to the lack of attention it's been receiving. I wasn't nearly tripping over controllers or stepping on albums and records. By the time we reached his bedroom, I took his hoodie off to enjoy the cool sheets nearly seeping in through the light t-shirt of his.

Baylor positioned himself on his side of the bed while I situated myself. The comforter was on top of our bodies, nearly up to our stomachs. His head was on his pillow and my head was lying on the opposite pillow. I faced him, crossed my arms beneath my head and watched as he tucked his left arm below his pillow. Insecurity set in.

"You don't have to tell me, Baylor. I'm not pressuring you to do anything you're not comfortable with," I promised.

He was bleak, his thoughts drowning his facial features just by the way his face creased with discomfort. I wanted to smooth the soft wrinkles in his forehead and the crinkles between his eyebrows with my finger. I wasn't going to pressure him. But by the appearance that he held I could tell that it was another tough explanation to explain. I hoped to God he wasn't angry at me, but instead of him saying anything, he turned to the other side, facing the wall. Just a few minutes ago, he was smiling like I wanted him to; he was saying sweet, blissful words that I absolutely loved. And now, he was annoyed at me.

I peered over him and saw the arch of his eyebrows, the choleric mastering his beautiful features. With both of his hands under his pillow, and his left arm bent, I slid my arm through the gap expanding from his arm and his side. My other arm swooped under his neck and I drawled him to my chest and laid my head on his. I stared at him - his glowering declaration soon faded and the curve of his eyebrows decreased.

"I'm sorry for making you mad," I breathed. Baylor shook his head nonchalantly.

"You didn't make me mad," he vowed. "It's just the reason makes me so angry, and I just hate talking about it."

"That's fine," I responded. I kissed his bare shoulder and settled my head on the pillow he was lying on, my arms were still around him. I felt his hands wrap around my forearms.