Night shifts black

We move to the couch, and I start to get more comfortable once I stop thinking. It’s my head, that sprinting brain that revels in its ability to shoot itself in ten directions at once, considering every fear, consequence, and insecurity, paralyzing me in a constant daze of anxious numbness. It’s that brain I finally manage to turn off, and I suspect Luke has had that effect on a lot of women in his life. The thought should sober me, but instead I find the ache returning, inciting an urgency that suddenly makes his t-shirt a barrier I can’t stand anymore. I grab the hem, and he helps me pull it over his head.

Without his shirt, I can now feel his body against me. Firm, solid, he’s stronger than I’d thought. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. The tattoos run along his shoulders and down his chest as well. If there had been any doubt about his past, there was none now. He is beautiful. A tragic work-of-art.

I like this even more and reciprocate by grasping the edge of my own sweater. He pauses, and I can feel his eyes, sense his anticipation. He’s been waiting, too. Imagining what I look like under the layers that have always separated us. I’m nervous again but know I’ve invited this.

His fingers slide along the contours of my waist, leaving a searing trail of heat under my skin. I wait, not wanting to rush him, but nervous that the longer he waits, the longer he’ll have to remember I’m not the supermodels he’s accustomed to. It’s not fair, petty even, but my brain stopped playing fair a long time ago. After another moment, I finally take his hands and lock them behind my back, closing the gap between us. My lips find his again, and this time there’s no hesitation. I want every inch of him, mind, body, and soul. He understands, and I fall back on the cushions, pulling him with me.

His lips are on my neck now, and I close my eyes, gasping as the fire ripping through me tears apart the little that’s left of any hesitation. He locks his fingers with mine and pushes my hands along the fabric, anchoring them above my head. This time it’s his lips tracing my body, taking my breath away with each perfectly executed kiss. He lets go to focus his grip elsewhere, and I run my hands along his back, loving the way his muscles tense at every movement, and hint at the explosive power that will be mine in a minute.

Our contact is desperate now. A fervent magnetism that drives us into each other, co

“Are you ok? You’re sure?” he asks. It’s a silly question, but I love that he asks. The way his eyes search mine as he waits for the answer he already knows. I respond by kissing him again, reaching for his jeans.

“Ellie,” he whispers.

I freeze. “Ellie?”

He does, too, and we stare at each other. Our breathing is heavy. The silence is like a massive curtain settling over us, pressing us into the couch, and suddenly his weight is more than I can bear. He understands and moves away, his head buried in his hands. It’s then that I hear it, the sobs. I know now he’s probably drunk, but realize it’s the tears causing the drinking, not the other way around.

I close the distance between us as my heart shatters and wrap my arms around him. He leans into my shoulder, crying like the neighborhood bully after another beating from his abusive father. They’re hard tears, unfamiliar, but completely wild as they push through the fortress protecting his battered soul.

We sit like that for a long time. The tears eventually subside into an embarrassed swat at his face, and he rubs hard, as if punishing his eyes for putting on such a display. I refuse to let him be embarrassed.

Instead of pulling away, I loop my arm through his and lean against him, gripping his hand in mine. I’m not looking at him anymore, instead staring at our reflections in the giant screen hanging on the wall across from us. I’m not letting him go. I’m not letting him face Ellie’s ghost alone.

After another long pause, I can feel him start to relax. I run my fingers along his arm, partly out of my own fascination, but mostly to remind him I’m here, and he’s alive. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s left me to go to that other place again.

“Her name was Elena,” he says finally, his voice still trembling a bit as it cuts through the silence.

I don’t respond. It’s my turn to listen. But it quickly becomes clear that name is all I’m going to get. Ellie is Elena. End of story.

I’m not surprised by the stingy gift, just disappointed. I want more than anything to be his anchor, but he doesn’t seem prepared to come into shore yet. I wonder if he’ll ever be.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“She was a beautiful person.”

I nod. “I’m sorry, Luke. Really.” I’m completely sincere but I can tell by his expression that my words don’t mean anything to him. In fact, I suddenly sense that I understand even less about his story than I thought.

“I am, too,” he says quietly. He shakes his head. “But nothing personal, right?” he snickers, pulling away and pushing himself up from the couch. I understand his joke, a ridiculous comment to make while we are both half-naked in a hotel room. He doesn’t elaborate and moves back to the bar, draining his glass and refilling it. I instinctively want to stop him, knowing he’s doing himself no favors by hiding in expensive liquor, but it’s not my place. I will accomplish nothing by turning myself into the enemy. I have no choice but to accept him as he is at this moment.

I reach for my sweater and pull it back over my head. He watches me quietly, and I wonder about the darkness I see suddenly seep into his features. I hold my breath when he looks away.

“Callie, about what just happened, I’m sorry. About all of it. I shouldn’t have asked you to come here. I shouldn’t have…I just…” he doesn’t finish.

“No one can do life completely alone. We’re not supposed to.”

He looks at me then. I’m close, I can tell.

I get up and join him at the bar. It’s my turn to remove the glass from his hand. I place it firmly on the table and drop the remote in his hand instead.

“I’m free the rest of the day. Let’s watch a movie.”

The light returns to his eyes as a slow smile spreads over his lips.

“Really? You’re sure?”

I nod. “One hundred percent.”

“Comedy, ok?”

I almost laugh. “Definitely.”