8. Hunter

The knob turns easily.

I tiptoe into the room, careful to shut the door without a sound, and pad toward the bed.

At the foot of the mattress, I hesitate.

There's nothing pushing me forward. There's nothing holding me back. I'm not here. And yet I can't bring myself to go anywhere else.

Come tomorrow, it won't be this intense.

Come Monday, it'll be nothing but an afterthought.

But I won't make it through tonight without a tether.

And the one I've counted on during the darkest nights is on the other side of the world right now.

"Greedy?" I whisper.

I hate disturbing him, and I don't want to give him the wrong idea. I shouldn't be doing this. There are a million reasons to stay away. The biggest is because, with each moment we share space, I'm hurting him more.

I hate hurting him, but I have to hate him.

It's killing me. It's also keeping me alive.

His breath hitches, and then there's a weighted silence where he must hold his breath. I can just make out the whites of his eyes, staring intently, searching for everything I try to hide. He watches me in the dark, like he hopes he can get a read on me.

Then he exhales, clears his throat, and pulls back the blankets.

"Get in."

I release an audible exhale of my own, relief flooding my system as tears stream down my face.

An ache grows in my chest with each step closer.

I hiccup. "This doesn't mean—"

He cuts me off with a sigh. "I know, Tem. Just like last time, right?"

I answer by climbing in beside him.

He reaches for me, his warm hands gripping my hips, and guides me over his body.

I go willingly, crawling over him to the empty spot beside him. Except I don't make it to the other side.

My body gives out, my energy sapped, my longing too much to resist when he's physically this close. All that remains is a hollowness in desperate need of an anchor to the here and now.

I drape my limbs over his torso, bury my face in his chest, and silently sob.

Beneath me, he tenses, his hold on me rigid.

This isn't fair to him or to his heart. It's not fair to me. I should have never—

"Shh," he soothes, relaxing his muscles and holding me tenderly, one arm banded around my middle and the other stroking my hair. "I've got you. You're safe. You can cry. I've got you."

His words, his tranquil tone, flip a switch in my brain. For the first time in hours, I stop thinking. Stop obsessing. Lay down every shield, and let my body relax as the intrusive thoughts storm the gates of my mind.

They're always there. Month after month, I fail to keep them at bay.

But when I'm in Greedy's arms, I know they won't win.

He won't let them take me.

I cry until my sobs turn to sniffles, my tears pooling on his bare chest. As my breathing levels out, I peel myself off him and settle onto the mattress.

He doesn't speak and he doesn't move as I get comfortable.

But he's there. Right there. His warmth, his concern, his love.

Day after day, I commit so much energy to shutting him out. I ignore just how deeply he loves me. But the intensity of his devotion is overwhelming with my guard down like this.

It's all-consuming, but I can only accept it when I'm like this: hollow and hopeless, with no consideration for tomorrow or next week, let alone my next breath.

Once I've found a comfortable position, I will my body to relax again. When I stop moving, he inches closer, one hand smoothing up my thigh and over my hip. He cradles the small of my back, lining up our pelvises until we're pressed together in the most intimate way.

Nothing but his boxer briefs and my little sleep shorts separate us.

It's a closeness I crave in the hazy moments between sleep and consciousness. As if my body and my heart are conspiring to betray me, fully committed to taking what they want with no concern for the consequences.

Consequences.

There are always consequences.

With a sigh, I melt into his arms.

His voice is tentative when he asks, "Will you stay and let me hold you tonight?"

It's unlikely I'll sleep. I never do on nights like this.

Silently, I nod, angling forward until my forehead brushes his damp chest.

With careful movements, he wraps his arms around me and hitches one leg over mine. One hand finds its way to the back of my head, his fingers weaving into my hair and resting against my scalp.

He's everywhere. He's everything.

"Just promise you'll let me go in the morning."

He doesn't answer.

His breathing matches my own, our bodies syncing up and reacquainting themselves. The way we fit together is ingrained, permanent.

He's a part of me. He's the best of me.

Every aloof response and surly glare is designed to push him away. Does he know it hurts me every time I do it?

After what feels like an eternity, Greedy's breathing slows, and when I'm sure he's drifted off, I kiss his sternum. Then I place my palms on his chest and cuddle closer, giving myself this moment and this night to lay down my guard and remember.