Silence engulfs us, and I should move to my own bed to have some fucking dignity, but I just can’t. I don’t want to be without him. So, I fall into a restless sleep, curled around him.
* * *
When I wake up, Whit’s gone. The sheets are cold underneath me, and I turn over and press my face into the pillow, inhaling his scent. My neck still throbs slightly from the mark he left on me last night, and I rub at it absently.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get over Whit, of what this relationship has done to me. How it’s changed me. My chest aches, knowing that there’s a very good chance I will be waking up like this for years to come.
Silence permeates the air around me, and I wonder if this is the beginning of the end for us.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Idecide to give Whit some space. He obviously needs it, so instead of lurking around the apartment like a ghost, I head to the gym and do whatever workouts I can with my broken hand. Then I chill with Mal and Bree until I can’t stand to be around them for another minute. Watching them making eyes at each other only reminds me that Whit isn’t around to gaze at like this.
Is this how I look with Whit?
Am I this pathetic?
Yes, yes. I think I am.
When I finally head home later that day and don’t see Whit, I wonder if I should just pack a bag and get away for a little while. Clear my head. Tomorrow is my day off. No class, no work, so why not?
Yeah, that’s a good idea.
I’m a fucking genius sometimes.
I’ll get a motel or some shit and spend the day drinking and watching bad daytime TV. Better than overthinking this. Whatever this is. I’m already losing my mind with anxiety.
I’m in the middle of stuffing my plastic bag with shit I’ll need when Whit’s footsteps resound in the apartment.
“Caleb?” he calls out, and I freeze.
“In here,” I say and turn to greet him when he comes through the doorway. God, he looks like a dream.
“Sorry I was late…” his eyes catch on my overstuffed plastic bag, narrowing them.
Maybe I should invest in a nice travel bag. I’m looking slightly pathetic at the moment.
“What’s that?” He folds his arms across his chest, and I shrug and shove another undershirt into it. At this point, I don’t even know what I’ve packed. It could be all socks, for all I know.
“Taking a mini-vacation.”
“Why?” he asks, tapping his fingers on his arms.
“Need to get away. Think a bit.”
“Think about what?”
I don’t answer because what am I going to say? That I’m butthurt that he doesn’t want me after this year. That my heart is breaking a little that he’s going to move across the country. That I think I might, just maybe, wish he really was my boyfriend. Yeah, I’ve got nothing. Anything I utter at this moment will just make me look even more pitiful than I already do. This is just casual for him. I need to remember this. Nothing to see here.
So I just move toward the bathroom, intent on at least grabbing my toothbrush, but am stopped when Whit grabs the bag from my hand and begins shuffling through it.
“You’ve packed three pairs of socks and an undershirt.”
“You interrupted my packing process. It’s normally very precise,” I say and head back into the room, dump the bag out, and start over.
I slowly begin packing again, and Whit sighs. He moves to my side and helps me, picking out one article of clothing, folding it nicely, and then placing it in the bag. He does this until all of my clothes are situated neatly inside the bag. Then he holds it out to me.
“Thanks,” I say sheepishly, grabbing it from him. Our fingers brush, and tingles move up my arm. I’ve got it so bad.