UNTRODDEN TERRITORY
RUE
I woke up at the crack of dawn, curled into Eli’s chest. The sex had lasted for hours, but I couldn’t recall when precisely it had ended or having made the conscious decision to stay over. It mattered very little: after what I’d
admitted to last night, I no longer required mental gymnastics to justify sleeping at his place.
I gently freed myself and pulled up my shorts, staring at him. He was on his side, bare chested and only half-covered by the sheet, his hair a beautiful, chaotic nightmare. I thought about running a hand through it, and the impulse was so hard to resist, I had to force myself to turn away.
My phone informed me that it was early—early enough that the sky wasn’t fully bright yet—but I had a lab booked for the morning, and couldn’t show up smelling like sex and Eli. With one last lingering glance and the overpowering feeling that I should stay, I made my way down the stairs.
As soon as I was no longer around Eli, an insidious sense of dread began spreading through me. My stomach ached. My bones were heavy. Something dense solidified in my chest, and the farther I got from the bedroom, the heavier it became.
It was not just sex, what he and I were doing. He knew it, and so did I. And now . . . what now? What did people do, once they acknowledged that
they had something—someone—to lose? What was expected of me? What if Eli decided that he didn’t want me?
It was untrodden territory, and I felt scared and nauseated.
Calm down, I told myself, taking a deep breath. Get yourself home. Take a damn shower.
Tiny sleepily escorted me to the front door. He stared up at me with small, hopeful eyes, and before slipping out, I found myself reaching out. It took me about three attempts, but I managed to clumsily pat him on the head—and shockingly, I didn’t screw it up. His tail swung in delight, and I smiled. Maybe there was hope for me, after all.
I didn’t notice the sunrise until I was in my car. I hadn’t seen one in months, maybe years, and the golden light beckoned me home and bathed the street in a warm, gentle glow. My eyes burned, as though unable to contain the emotions of the past few days. There had been plenty, many of them confusing, and I had to hit my sternum with my balled-up fist before starting the car.
I was about five minutes from home when my phone rang.
New York City was only one hour ahead, but Nyota was the kind of “work hard, play hard” person whose early mornings were likely to be spent at the office—or staggering home from the club. Still, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d received a call from her at such an odd hour.
“Is Tisha okay?” I asked when she picked up.
“I hope so. She better not be dead, because I have zero time to go scatter her ashes at some meaningful but hard-to-reach location. If there’s a mountain to climb or a boat to rent, you’re going to have to take care of it.”
“Sure.”
“Nice. Consider this a legally binding agreement, because I will hold you to it.” She sounded exceedingly satisfied. “Were you able to give those statements to Harkness?”
“Yes. It’s nice of you to check on it at”—I glanced at the dashboard clock—“six forty-two a.m.”
“Yeah, that’s not what this call is about. What’s that noise? Are you driving?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well . . .” A pause. Nyota sighed, and alarm tingled in my belly. “I think you should pull over. I have something very important to tell you, and it’s pretty fucking atrocious.”
