Elena Has To Leave For A Week

The takeout was good. But I barely tasted it. I was just too occupied with trying not to be awkward, like I had done in the last few months whenever she invited him over.

Elena was talking about the wedding, replaying moments the way she always did with good memories, like if she described them precisely enough, she could keep them. Adrian was listening, chin resting on his hand, watching her the way people watch things they can't believe they get to keep.

I pushed rice around my plate and said "mm" at the right moments.

Dinner was going well, and I could see myself fleeing to my room in about a minute or so, but then her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, and her eyes slightly narrowed. It was a flicker of something shifting behind her eyes, the kind of way she always looked when she glanced at work calls.

Then, she held a finger up. "One second."

She excused herself, leaving me with Adrian, but we didn't share a conversation. He simply ate his meal, and I did, but the silence was suffocating.

Elena was back in three minutes. But the Elena who sat down was slightly different from the one who had just been reliving memories from the wedding.

"It's the Hargrove deal," she said, and I watched her look at Adrian with an expression that was half apology, half steel. "They want to push the signing to this week or they will walk away. Marcus can't handle it alone."

The table went quiet.

"Elena." Adrian's voice was even. Not cold —just even but she didn't even leave him to speak.

"I know." She reached across and put her hand over his. "I know. I'm so sorry."

She knew it was wrong, but she could not help it. If she chose to ignore it and lost this deal, it would be a great issue after the adrenaline of this little happy moment died down.

Adrian looked at her hand. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose and looked away, jaw tightening once. That was all. No guilt trip. No raised voice. Just that one quiet exhale that somehow said everything.

That's how I knew he was genuinely good. And that's why I knew he was ‘perfect' and just couldn't look at him.

"I'll make it up to you," Elena said softly. "I promise. Once this deal closes, we can take the honeymoon in Santorini, the whole two weeks, no phone." She squeezed his hand. "But I need this. Please."

He turned back to her and something in his face settled. "Go close your deal."

She smiled—relieved, grateful—and then looked at me. "Adrian will be here. You won't even notice I'm gone."

I noticed the sentence. The shape of it. Adrian will be here. And it terrified me.

"How long?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

"A week. Maybe less if everything goes smoothly."

A week.

I nodded like that was a normal amount of time. Like a week was nothing. Like I hadn't just felt the floor shift slightly beneath my chair.

A week was just too much.

Elena was already mentally packing. I could tell by the way her eyes had gone distant, organized, running through lists. She kissed Adrian's cheek and started talking logistics and I sat there with my fork in my hand thinking—

A week.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours in this house with him.

This was a disaster. 

I didn't wait for dessert and excused myself. If I had stayed there any longer, I would only be endangering my mental health.

…

“Don't trouble Adrian too much, okay?” Elena said to me as she kissed the top of my head before turning to her husband, her suitcase in her hand.

I nodded and watched their lips meet in a brief goodbye kiss but it looked like Adrian was reluctant to let go of her. It was only natural.

He was a newly wed husband who had to part with his bride for a week. He must be pent up.

Well, none of my business. 

I went straight to my bed and fell asleep. The exhaustion has overloaded.

And then, just like the nights before, it started the way it always did.

Warmth. The kind of warmth that has weight to it, presence, like something breathing close.

In the dreams Adrian was never doing anything wrong. That was the cruelest part. He was just — there. Looking at me the way he never actually looked at me. Like I was something he was trying to memorize.

And I would be the one to reach out. I would touch his face, kiss his lips—the ones only reserved for my sister in real life—and that would give him the go ahead to do whatever he wanted with me.

But he was never harsh. He never rejected me. He was tender, he was gentle…

I felt the blanket move. Being drawn up slowly, carefully, over my shoulder. I felt his hand, close enough that I could feel the heat of it without it quite touching my skin.

I'd had this dream before. Variations of it. I knew how it went.

So I caught his wrist.

My fingers closed around it and he stilled.

I didn't open my eyes. If I opened my eyes it would stop being a dream and I needed—just for a moment—to stay inside it.

"Lisa." His voice seemed a little started, but it was low and careful.

"I know," I murmured. My thumb moved, just slightly, against the inside of his wrist. "I know it's wrong."

The room was very quiet.

"I know it every single day." My voice came out strange. Thick. True in a way my voice never got to be when I was awake. "But I can't— "

I swallowed.

"Just let me." I turned my face slightly into the pillow. "Just let me hold you in my dream. That's all. That's all I'm asking for."

He didn't move.

I brought his hand slowly, carefully, to my cheek. Held it there. Felt the warmth of his palm against my face and thought—this is the closest I will ever let myself have. This is enough. This has to be enough.

"It's feeling more real," I whispered. "Every night, it feels more real when I do things with you."

Then I opened my eyes, and thank God, the dream didn't stop.

“Hold me,” I whispered into his touch, my eyes soft and glossy as I pleaded to the man who I was never allowed to have. “Please.”