-Blake-
It was late in the evening, and Jordan was already in bed. I was in my own room, reading some art magazines to learn more about all the different techniques. When Jordan talked about his paintings, he used words I had never even heard of, and I wanted to understand what he was talking about.
Mrs. Simmons had been kind enough to bring me some magazines and books to pass the time, and I used the opportunity to learn more about the world. I had to admit that it was quite nice to lay down on a soft bed, listen to some music and read. I didn't need to worry about finding food or a place to sleep, and I didn't need to be constantly looking over my shoulder.
I kept my eyes on the magazine and reached for the glass of juice I had on the nightstand next to my bed. I brought the glass to my lips and tried to take a sip, but the glass was empty.
"Oh right..." I chuckled and put the magazine down.
I got up from the bed and exited the room. I tried to be quiet as I walked down the hall since it was almost eleven in the evening. I walked past Jamie's quiet room and heard music coming from Joyce's on the other side. I sneaked past the master bedroom. There was a hint of light coming from under the door – the parents of the family never seemed to sleep.
I walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, but stopped right after stepping in. Mr. Simmons was sitting next to the kitchen table with a notebook in front of him. He was eating leftovers halfheartedly, writing something in the notebook.
I didn't even have time to decide if I should come back later, when he suddenly lifted his eyes from his work and noticed me standing by the door, and his whole body jerked in surprise.
"Christ! You scared the hell out of me," he said, taking a deep breath.
"I am sorry, sir. I didn't mean to."
"It's fine. I'm so tired I get spooked if I see my own reflection," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Come in, have a seat."
"I was just getting something to drink," I muttered and hurried to the fridge. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."
"Nonsense! I haven't had the time to speak with you. How long have you been staying with us anyway? A week?" he spoke in a light manner while holding back his yawn.
"More like a month," I muttered, filling up my glass with juice.
He stared at me for a moment, and then checked his watch. "Has it really been that long already?"
"Time flies," I said cheerfully and grabbed my glass. "Well, I'm off now. I don't want to bother you any longer."
"No, no! You're not bothering me. I could use a break anyway. Please – have a seat."
I tried to give him a friendly smile, while my instincts screamed me to make a run for it. I didn't want to spend any time with Mr. Simmons. I had no idea what to think of him, and I was worried I would say something wrong and screw everything up.
I sat down on the chair anyway. I didn't want to be rude towards the man who was paying for my food. It would make things complicated if Mr. Simmons started to hate me.
"So – you are related to Tina?"
"Yes, sir. I'm her nephew," I said, hoping that he wouldn't ask any other questions about my fake family.
I hadn't even met Tina or her sister, and I wasn't sure if I could remember everything Julia had told me about them. Thankfully, he didn't seem interested in any of that. He was looking somewhere at the ceiling for a moment before he looked at me again.
"How is my son doing?" he asked with a sad voice.
"He's getting better. Today he was only one foot away from me," I said.
He stared at me with wide eyes. "He let you in his room?"
"No. I was sitting right outside the door," I explained.
"But the door was closed, right?"
"It was open. He even looked at me and touched my hand," I said, and I couldn't help but smile at that memory.
"Well, I'll be damned," Mr. Simmons said and leaned against the backrest of his chair. "Really?"
"It's true," I said.
"How did you do it? We have tried to help him for years! Ever since we moved here, he hasn't let us in his room, and we can only talk with him over the phone or the intercom."
I wanted to tell him that in order to help Jordan, he would actually need to interact with him. He hadn't come to see Jordan, not even once, during the time I had stayed in the house. I was sure that he hadn't even talked with Jordan during that time. No wonder Jordan wasn't getting better since his mom was the only person who was talking to him on a daily basis.
"He said I was different than others. Different aura or something," I said, leaving out the rest of what I really wanted to say.
Mr. Simmons was quiet for a moment before he asked with a hesitant voice, "Do you think he hates me?"
I didn't have an answer for that. "He doesn't speak much about you." I couldn't remember if Jordan had even mentioned his father. Mr. Simmons nodded slowly, and he looked awfully sad all of a sudden.
"It's my fault, you know? You must know why he's like that," he spoke quietly. "I turned my back on him only for a second, and he was gone. I tried to look for him, but it was complete chaos in that parking lot."
I listened quietly while he spoke. He looked devastated, and I felt sorry for him.
"I didn't know what to do," he said and brushed his hand through his hair anxiously. "Where to look? Who to ask for help? I was alone with my only son, in a country where I didn't know the language. I was told to wait in my hotel for news, and I thought I would never see him again. I did everything I could – I visited every hospital twice or three times and I kept calling the local police to ask if they had found him. No one knew where he was, and I feared the worst. And then, after three days..."
Mr. Simmons fell silent and looked up at the ceiling again.
"You know, I really thought it would be best for Jordan if he was in a mental institute. It would be best for the rest of our family. I am ashamed to say that... and I do want him to be home, but this is ruining my family. I have ruined my family," he continued, looking like he was about to cry.
"If only we had left sooner, none of this would've happened. Jordy asked if we could leave sooner, but I wanted to see that stupid goal. Maybe he knew that something bad was about to happen..." He looked sad and almost angry when he turned to face me. "I haven't watched sports ever since."
I didn't know what to say to him. He turned to look at his cold dinner and pushed the plate away, but he didn't continue speaking. It was obvious that the whole family was in great pain, even after all these years.
"He's getting better now. I think you should talk with him more," I said eventually.
"I haven't talked with him in..." he said and stared into nothingness. "I can't even remember to be honest. I don't think he wants to talk to me anyway."
"You should try. You can't keep blaming yourself, you didn't know what would happen," I said quietly.
"I should've been with Jordan the entire time. I shouldn't have let him out of my sight," he said. "I should have taken him and left that damned place the second the fight started..."
I couldn't argue with that. Mr. Simmons sighed, shook his head and turned to look at his notebook.
"I'm glad to hear he's doing better. It's a good thing my stubborn wife didn't let me find a mental institute for Jordan. I don't know if it was God who led you here to us, but I am glad that you came," he spoke. "I heard it was your idea to start selling Jordan's paintings. He is really talented, and he will be a famous artist one day," he added with a happier smile.
"He truly is," I said.
"I'm surprised that my wife agreed to sell the paintings. She's quite attached to them," he continued. "Every penny counts in this household, as you may have noticed."
"I feel bad for making you pay for my living, giving the circumstances," I said truthfully.
"Don't worry about it. I heard you're doing a great job helping my wife. Maybe I could ask you a favor or two in the future?"
"Of course. I am here to help."
"That's great to hear," he said with a smile. "Off you go then. You must be tired."
"Thank you, sir," I said and rushed up on my feet.
"No – thank you for listening," he said.
I gave him an awkward nod before I left the room. I started to relax again when I stepped into my room and closed the door. I was glad that Mr. Simmons hadn't asked anything personal about me. I wasn't sure if I would've remembered anything about my fake family.
It was really late already, and I was getting tired, so I went to take a quick shower before I dressed up in my pajama pants. When I lay down on my bed and pulled the covers over myself, I wondered if Jordan was asleep already.
I rolled on my side and wished that Jordan would be right there, next to me, but my king-size bed was empty.
"Soon enough..." I muttered and yawned widely.
Jordan would be in my arms soon enough. I was sure about it. When I finally fell asleep, I had a smile on my lips, and in my dreams, I was sleeping right next to my boyfriend.
-Jordan-
It was fifteen minutes past six in the morning. I was lying wide awake on my bed and stared at the red numbers of my alarm clock. I had slept better than in days, but I was slightly sad about it. I hadn't had any dreams about Blake, and dreaming was the only way I could be in his arms.
"Come on..." I muttered to my clock in irritation.
I wanted to get up from the bed already, but I still had thirteen minutes left before the alarm would go off. I couldn't even get up from the bed if I wanted to, because it wasn't the right time yet.
"Twelve minutes..." I sighed and rolled on my back.
I stared out of my window, but it was still dark, and I couldn't see anything. My mind trailed back to the dreams I had of Blake, and I wondered once again how it was possible that I had fallen for him so fast.
"Maybe I'm still suicidal," I chuckled.
That wasn't it. I didn't know why I was so sure Blake would never hurt me. Maybe I was childish or stupid or both, but Blake was the only person I wasn't afraid of. That had to mean something.
I closed my eyes and dreamed that Blake was there with me, hovering over me... planting light kisses on my body... I could almost feel his presence, but when I opened my eyes, my room was empty.
I checked the time again.
"Four minutes," I muttered and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.
When the four minutes finally passed, and the alarm clock went off, I was up on my feet before the first mechanical beep had even stopped ringing. I shut it down and made the bed before I dashed out of the room.
While I was washing, I tried to avoid getting my hair wet. I kind of wanted to cut if shorter to make things easier for myself, but Blake liked my long braid. Ever since my accident, I hadn't cut my hair, not even once. I didn't know why it felt so scary to even consider it, but Mr. Xavier once told me that it might have something to do with my fear of changes.
I pushed that thought out of my mind when I stepped out of the shower. It was time for me to start my yoga, but I already knew I wouldn't be concentrating on meditation. My front door was closed, and I was sure that Blake was already outside of it, waiting for me.
Time passed slowly, and I started to feel more anxious rather than calm and relaxed, but I couldn't give up yet. My daily plan wouldn't allow it. I was well aware of the fact that I had started to get more and more annoyed about my obsessive behavior. If I wasn't such a freak, I would be able to be with Blake as long as I wanted. I would be able to see him whenever I wanted and even be intimate with him.
And I was dying to know what it would feel like to be close to someone. How would it feel to be hugged and kissed? How would his bare skin feel against my own? How good would it be if Blake made love to me?
I groaned in frustration and tried to concentrate on taking deep breaths while stretching my muscles. I had always been sad and lonely, but after meeting Blake, being completely alone had started to drive me crazy.
After I was done with yoga, I stood up and put the yoga mat away before walking to my door. I took one deep breath and pressed the handle down. The door opened for an inch, and I kept staring at it. I didn't want to move away, even though Blake would open it any second.
"Good morning," I heard Blake's cheerful voice from the other side, and he tried to push the door open. He couldn't do that since I was still standing in the way. "Jordan? I can't open the door."
"I know," I muttered.
"Oh, you are still there," Blake spoke quietly. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," I said and fell silent.
I was having a hard time to breathe, and I did feel a little dizzy, but it wasn't anything that I couldn't handle. I didn't hear any sounds on the other side of the door, so I assumed Blake was still standing by the door, waiting patiently for my move.
"So... Did you sleep well?" I asked and closed my eyes to calm my nerves.
"I did, yeah. I uh... I talked with your dad last night," Blake told me.
"Really?" I said, trying not to get affected by it – I couldn't even remember when the last time I spoke with my dad was. I knew he was avoiding me, and I couldn't understand why. It almost hurt to hear that he was talking with Blake, but not with me, his own son.
"He thinks you hate him," Blake continued quietly.
"I don't hate him," I said hastily, but I wasn't sure if it was completely true. "I mean, he is my dad..."
"I told him to talk with you," Blake said. "If he's man enough, he will give you a call soon. You just have to be patient."
"Oh..." I muttered. "I wouldn't bet my money on that."
"He seemed... lost... if you know what I mean. He doesn't know what to do when it comes to you," Blake spoke. "He's afraid that you never want to see him again."
I opened my eyes and stared at the floor under my feet. I felt bad for my family. What my condition was doing to them...
"I thought they hate me," I said quietly.
"Who in their right mind could hate you?" Blake asked with a tender voice. "You are such a sweetheart."
"Me? A sweetheart?" I chuckled. "I recall saying some pretty mean things to you."
"You said it yourself, you can't control it," Blake reminded me.
"I still wouldn't call myself a sweetheart," I murmured.
"You are my sweetheart," Blake said softly.
I blushed and bit my lower lip. I looked at the door and hoped I could open it all the way and just kiss Blake with all that longing I had for him. I lifted my hand and pressed it gently against the door, breathing in his scent.
"I want to touch you," I said silently.
I heard Blake moving a little on the other side of the door, and only a few seconds later, I saw his fingertips making their way onto my side of the door.
"Is this good?" Blake asked quietly.
I looked at his fingers that were resting on the door in front of me. I carefully lifted my hand and touched him gently. "Yeah," I said with a smile, pressing my hand on top of his.
It wasn't enough for my heart or soul, but it was almost too much for my mind. I leaned my head against the door and breathed out contently. I didn't have much time to stay with him since time was cruel and didn't wait for me to be satisfied. I couldn't stop the minutes from passing by. All I could do was to enjoy the two minutes of closeness.
"I wish it was evening already," I whispered.
"So do I," Blake replied quietly.