Chapter 1—Rocco
“Time to move, Rocco.”
For the third time, Cree’s voice breaks through the barrier of blankets wrapped around me. My brain is in a not-quite-asleep fog, and I don’t want to move. At the same time, I know I should make the effort, open my eyes, and fake having my shit together for another day. I take a deep breath and push my head through the opening at the top and blink a few times.
Cree is on the other side of my single-occupancy dorm room, pouring water into the coffee machine. I blink a few times, watching him get the coffee brewing. He pulls open the blackout curtain, and daylight floods the room. I duck back beneath the covers.
“None of that now,” Cree says. His tone is authoritative but not unkind. “Get your ass up.”
I sigh as I turn my head slightly, letting the blanket fall from my face. The sunlight is a bit much for my eyes, and I reach up to rub the sleep from them.
“If you don’t get moving,” Cree says, “you’ll be late meeting with Casey.”
Casey. The thought of her pale face rimmed with black hair causes me to grimace but not from distaste. I don’t know how I feel about her or her request to spend time with me. She wants to play with rope—she’s made that clear. I just don’t understand why.
“Do you want to back out?” Cree moves to the edge of the bed, speaking softly. “I can call her and say it’s not going to work out. This is your decision.”
The word “decision” rolls around in my head. I swallow hard.
“Do you think I should?”
“That’s not my call, Roc.”
I rub my eyes again. A throb in my right temple matches my heartbeat, thrumming out the words: “Make a choice. Make a choice. Make a choice.”
Decisions are hard. Technically, I’ve already agreed to talk to her about whatever it is she wants, but I know I can choose to back out if I want to. Want. Desire. Choice. All these decisions. They just make my head pound more. Easier to just go with it.
“I’ll meet with her.”
“Then move.”
I push myself to a sitting position on the bed. The blankets are still tightly wrapped around me in a warm, safe cocoon. The idea of leaving my quiet little nest of fabric is unsettling. It’s time consuming. It’s easier to just lie back down.
Sometimes, moving is really, really difficult.
I’ve been told a thousand times by a dozen therapists what I should do to keep myself positive. They’ve always been right. For a brief time, forcing myself to go to the gym every morning really did improve my overall mood. It got me out and around people, which is never easy, and made it a lot more likely that I’d make it to my classes. Knowing what I should do and actually forcing myself to do it aren’t the same thing.
Transitions are the problem. Even thinking about change brings a heavy, sleepy feeling to my limbs. Remaining static is easy. Adjustments—even small ones—set me on edge. It’s easier to stay where I am, how I am, what I am. Stay in bed; stay in my small, cramped dorm room; stay in my head. Maneuvering myself from one state to the next is the most difficult thing in the world, and I have to consciously force myself to do it each and every time.
Cree reaches out, and I work my arm out of the blankets to take his hand. He pulls me around so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, and some of the blankets fall away.
“Have you eaten today?”
“No.”
“We can grab bagels on the way back to my place.”
“The steamed ones?”
“Of course.”
“I can buy this time,” I say, nodding toward the wallet on the nightstand. “I got my check last Friday.”
“I’ll take you up on that!” Cree tilts his head to one side. “How do you feel about Kas joining us?”
Kas. Cree’s new lady friend. I met her over the weekend at the Power Exchange dungeon. I like that Cree seems happy with her, but I have the feeling she’ll be cutting into my rope time with him.