Day 159

“I find it hard to stay positive when I feel like I'm not going to stick around very long.” he whispered, his eyes darting away from my face. I curled into my sweater slowly, my legs entwined with his own. I let the soft skin of the sheets rub against my legs as I felt the rustling breeze from the midnight air fill the room. Everything was calm and collected-- even Buster was asleep underneath the bed. I let my eyes wander his nearly lifeless face, our hands twiddling with one anothers fingers. I curled my fingers into the spaced between his and felt the thin bones underneath, his complexion weary. It was a little past midnight, I was sweaty, cold, and ridiculously distraught for someone who had just had the most meaningful sex of their life.

I knew he was exhausted, as was I, but I couldn’t help but feel only pain. Pain for his suffering. He twisted onto his side and watched me silently, a free hand trapped underneath my neck he played with my short hair. I pursed my lips trying to find a response to what he had said but I couldn’t think of anything that would help. His eyes slowly started to close so I firmly gripped his hand with uncertainty with enough pressure to possibly break a finger.

“Don’t do that.” he smirked, a weak chortle escaping his red lips he leaned himself over until I was fully pressed against his chest, and his arm was wrapped around my neck and his fingers were dangling above my skull. “I do have the right to be tired you do know... I don’t do this as a sport.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought, wondering just how many girls he had slept with but figured that question could wait. I pushed our locked hands against his chest and slowly let my fingers draw hearts just above his breast, feeling the lifting of his stomach as he breathed in and out.

I was at peace for the night, and so was he. That was all I cared about.