Book 17: Think About It

Posey

The fever returns in the morning when the sun rises. It’s thick and syrupy with no end in sight. I sit up, surrounded by sheets and pillows I don’t remember carrying up here from the couch. I’m wearing nothing but one of Aris’s cut-off T-shirts, which I don’t remember putting on. I rub my face on the worn fabric, inhaling deeply, trying to clasp onto whatever shred of reality I can find. All that takes up my mind is… here. Being here, in this cabin, with this man I’ve known my entire life. A man so far out of my league it’s laughable.

The same man who made love to me last night like it was something fated. An act we’ve done a million times. Slow, tender, aching, the kind of touch I imagine comes from decades of knowing a lover's body.

I’m delusional when I walk downstairs, my brain split into sections. Sex. Lust. Greed. Possibly, hopefully,