Anything to avoid talking about the thing I don't want to confront. The fact that all of this is almost over.
And then it comes. I wake up early in the morning, to the sound of an alarm going off. The first one I've heard the whole time I've been here. Oz and I usually just wake with the sun as it rises over the city when it finally reaches a high enough point to shine right through the windows and glint off our eyelids. But today, there is an alarm, which means there is a schedule and a deadline, and the prayer I uttered before I fell asleep didn't work.
Because I prayed that I would wake up and it would all be different, and I wouldn't have to leave, and I would be back right at the beginning of the week and ready to spend it all over with him again.
I lay still, for a long moment. Oz turns off the alarm and clears his throat, turning to look at me. But I remain still, my eyes closed, not moving, focused on keeping my breathing as steady as possible. Maybe if I just pretend to be asleep, I can sleep through all of this. Maybe he'll leave me here, let me miss my flight.
But he doesn't.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his voice soft even if still slightly rough with sleep.
“I'm sleeping,” I say stupidly, which definitely gives the game away.
He chuckles lightly, and I feel his hand brushing the side of my face. “You have to get up sooner or later,” he says. “You've got somewhere to be today, remember?”
“No,” I say, keeping my eyes shut tightly and deliberately rolling onto my side, putting my back to him. I know I'm acting like a child. Stubborn and dumb, like I'm having a tantrum. But my heart is breaking inside me, and I don't know how else to deal with it. I don't want to face reality. I don't want to face the fact that today is the last day I will wake up in his bed.
“Darling,” he says, kissing lightly at my neck. It makes me shudder the same way it always does, sending a bolt of desire right down into the pit of my stomach. How am I supposed to resist him when he does that?
“Don't,” I say, my voice cracking on the words.
“What is it?” he asks, going still immediately. His hand hovers slightly above my arm, lifting up from where he was touching me. His face remains just an inch from my neck, but no longer kissing.
And that breaks my heart, even more, knowing how much thought he puts into my needs. How eager he always is to make sure that I’m comfortable, that I enjoy what is happening. How if there is the slightest hint that I’m not, he will pull away, no matter how much he must want to continue.
“Please,” I say. “Just let me go back to sleep.”
“Are you tired?” he asks, his voice full of concern. “Didn't you sleep well last night? I think you can sleep in for a while, but not for too long, otherwise...”
“Let me sleep in forever,” I say, my voice coming out as a whine.
Oz sighs, his breath ghosting over my skin. “Why?” he asks. “Because you’re tired? Or because you don’t want today to happen?”
“I don't want to go home,” I say, the words breaking into tiny pieces in my throat. I hold back a sob. The last thing I want is to make things worse. He must already think so little of me from the way I'm acting.
But his arm comes around me, holding me, pulling me against his chest where I feel safe and warm. It's like he is cradling me. Not rebuking me. Not laughing at me.
“I don't want you to go either,” he says, and that broken heart of mine suddenly jolts back into place, all of the million pieces reforming into one whole.
“Do you mean that?” I ask, my hands covering his where he embraces me. I don't dare turn around and look at him just yet, not until I know for sure. I don't want to embarrass myself by letting him see the hope in my eyes, not if it's all a horrible joke. Not if he's about to say, but you have to.
“Of course, I mean it,” he says. “I've been dreading this day ever since the first moment we met. Only a week. It's not long enough. It wouldn't be long enough if you were here with me for a year or a lifetime. I don't want you to leave my side, ever.”
Something is stirring so painfully in my chest, yet so wonderful. A mixture of the greatest thrill and the greatest joy, like my heart is about to expand and burst. Now I do turn, shifting in his arms until I can face him, putting my hands to his chest and looking up into his face to see the truth there. “You want me to stay,” I say. Not really a question. A statement. A hope.