For Elio

[latermaybe]

With the end of the year closing in, I found myself anxious to close out the semester. I was distracted. I knew my colleagues could sense it, my students restless in classes that had lost focus. My writing had suffered, but it had never been something I was particularly proud of anyway. My heart wasn't in it. I wanted to be home.

I was afraid to go home.

I was compelled to be with Elio whenever possible, but his grief was consuming. I'd watched it whittle away at him, the cracks that Purge Night had left in him shattering the day that Jamie left, leaving behind the raw nerves beneath. Old wounds opened by the loss of his parents. The loss of me, over and over. I wanted to help him, but neither of us knew how I was meant to do that.

I stayed out for a few hours with some friends from the university, playing poker in the basement of their campus housing. I'd left early, guiltily, even though I'd told Elio where I'd be. I brought home a bottle of expensive wine and felt foolish. I loved him so much, and had never been so helpless.

Key in the door, I blew out a breath, braced myself, and stepped inside.

Comments

[speakordie]

When Oliver tells me that he's staying out late, I am not terribly surprised. And as much as I want him here with me, I also cannot blame him. I have not been a fun person to be around, and I've put Oliver through the ringer. I know he loves me, and he's doing all that he can, but I am an anchor.

It serves as a bit of motivation, actually. I tell him to have a good time, and mean it sincerely, and then quietly wonder to myself what I can do about trying his seemingly never ending patience. Getting out of bed would probably be a good start.

So, I do that. I get out of bed and make myself a cup of coffee. One thing at a time. Coffee, and then I strip the bed and put the sheets and all of my balled up pajamas into the washer. And then I put on upbeat music and take a shower. I scrub myself all over, wash my hair and comb conditioner through my hair. I get out, dry off, and shave the pathetic fuzz off of my face. I brush my teeth and comb my hair.

By the time I change into clean sweats and make the bed again, I hit a wall. My energy is depleted, but I do feel a little better. I even move to the sofa instead of getting back in bed, and I'm watching some mindless comedy when I hear Oliver's key in the door.

There is a pause between that and the door opening, and it makes something inside me feel like it's sinking. I don't want to be something that Oliver needs to brace himself for.

"Hi," I say as he steps inside and looks toward the bedroom, like that's where he's expecting to find me. But instead I am here, clean and awake, and I look up at him with a small smile that's vaguely nervous. "Did you have fun?"