The dream is teeth and wire: my hand pressed against a hotel mirror, a second set of fingers tightening around my wrist. I know whose hand it is, strong white hands and the way they refuse to let go.
I wake with a noise caught in my throat, the echo of a shout that never made it past my lips. The sheets are tangled up around my knees and my skin is sticky, salt-stung, cold despite the heat that clings to the mattress. My phone is buzzing, the sound needling at my ears, even though it’s not on the nightstand where I left it. Instead, it vibrates from the other side of the bed, too close to the place where Jimmy should be.
He’s standing in the light-spattered doorway, already in his gym shorts, chest and arms blanched almost gold by the cheap blinds. He looks like he’s been awake for hours. There’s no trace of sleep in his voice: “It’s him again.”
I know who he means, but I can’t form the word. It feels like if I say Nathaniel’s name out loud, I’ll conjure him into this room. The old rules—don’t feed the monster, don’t open the closet—still work better than therapy.
“You should block his number,” Jimmy says, quiet. “Or change yours.”
I twist the blanket tighter around my hips. “That doesn’t matter. He always finds a way.” I manage to reach for the phone with one hand, but Jimmy’s faster. He powers it off with a practiced swipe and sets it on the far edge of the dresser, screen facedown, exiled.
“You’re staying here. It’s not safe for you to be alone.”
The air in the room tastes like old metal. I watch dust float in a spear of sunlight. “You really think he’d come here?”
Jimmy shrugs, the movement making the muscles in his shoulder roll under skin. “He’s been everywhere else. Might as well be careful.” He walks over to the bed and sits beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. The faint scent of his sweat—clean and sharp—wraps around me, both comfort and warning.
I want to say, I can take care of myself. Instead, I ask, “What if your landlord finds out?”
Jimmy huffs. “She won’t. And if she does, I’ll handle it.” He glances at me, green-grey eyes narrowing like he’s trying to see through my skull.
He leans in close, hand landing on my shoulder. It’s just a touch, nothing dramatic, but the heat from his palm seeps through the cotton. For a second I forget the phone, forget Nathaniel, forget the stutter in my own heart. I meet Jimmy’s gaze and there’s a pull in it, gravity or something more basic, and I want to let it drag me under.
“I’ll be okay,” I say, trying to smile.
He shakes his head, expression soft but unyielding. “Let me worry about you for once.”
The words catch me off guard. I look away, focusing on the frayed edges of the sheet. Silence crowds the room, heavy and blue. My neck prickles with the sense of being watched, even now.
Jimmy’s hand drifts from my shoulder to the curve of my jaw. He’s gentle, but there’s intent in the way his thumb sweeps across my lower lip. It’s not the first time he’s touched me like this, but it still sends a tremor all the way down my spine. I open my mouth, maybe to say thank you or to ask for something I can’t name, but Jimmy leans in and the words dissolve.
The first kiss is almost nothing, just the press of his lips to mine, but then I feel the shape of his mouth—the scar under his bottom lip, the stubble rasping my cheek. My chest squeezes tight. His hand shifts to cup the back of my head, cradling it. I kiss him back, and the whole world goes flat and bright, every nerve ending tuned to the flick of his tongue and the way he breathes my name into the hollow of my throat.
When we break apart, the sun is higher. Jimmy’s face is unreadable, but his grip on me is careful, like he’s holding something fragile.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod. “Yeah. I—yeah.” I can’t stop my hand from shaking, so I use both hands to steady his. I want to hold on, anchor myself to this moment, but there’s always a clock ticking in the background.
We sit like that for a while, wrapped in each other and the rumpled blankets, the world outside held at bay by four thin walls. The phone is silent, but its absence is a different kind of noise.
Jimmy pulls me closer, his skin warm and solid against mine.
I press my forehead against his collarbone and just breathe. Jimmy strokes my hair, steady and methodical. Every time his fingertips graze the back of my neck, I shiver. He notices. He always does.
“Still with me?” Jimmy’s voice is low, almost lazy, but I can feel the tension underneath. It’s the same tone he uses when he’s about to break a deadlift record—calm but barely containing the urge to let go.
I nod, then twist upward so I can look him in the face. He’s watching me with that half-smile, the one that makes his left dimple deeper than the right, the one that says he’s a little embarrassed by how much he cares. I lean in and kiss him again, not as careful this time. I want to see if I can make him shiver.
His mouth opens against mine, slow and patient, and his hand finds the hem of my borrowed t-shirt. He doesn’t ask permission, just slips his palm underneath, flattening it against the hollow of my back. I make a noise—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—and suddenly the shirt is gone, tossed to the far corner of the room.
He’s on top of me before I can even process it, one knee braced between my thighs, both hands bracketing my head. I expect him to go rough—Jimmy is all blunt force and forward momentum when he’s at the gym—but here, he’s infuriatingly gentle. He kisses down my jaw, behind my ear, along the line of my throat. When he nips at my shoulder, I arch up against him, and he laughs, a breathy sound that lands right in my chest.
“You can tell me to stop anytime,” he murmurs, lips tracing the edge of my earlobe.
“Don’t want you to stop,” I say, and it comes out shaky, but true. I want him to take the wheel, want it so badly that I could cry.
Jimmy seems to understand. He tugs down the waistband of my shorts, slow enough to give me an out. When I don’t protest, he peels them away, his knuckles skimming my thighs, and lets them drop off the end of the bed. I reach for him, but he catches both my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head, light but inescapable.
“Stay,” he says. It’s not a question.
I stay.
He kisses his way down my chest, over the trembling of my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut and let the sensation replace my anxiety molecule by molecule. His breath is warm, his tongue hot and rough, and every new inch he uncovers feels like an admission of something I’ve never said out loud.
