Light in the Shadows

hand and I tightened my grip around it. I wasn’t sure I could go in.  But without giving myself time to think about it too much I pushed open the door and was hit by a wave of stale air.
                    It was exactly the same as the last time I was in here.  Clay’s bed was made and untouched.  Was he not staying in here then?  I stepped inside and looked around.  The blinds were drawn and it was so dark I could barely see.  I walked across the room and turned on the lamp that sat on his desk. 
                    Light flooded the room and I blinked as my eyes adjusted.  A thin layer of dust sat on everything, as though no one had been inside since he left.  Aside from the pictures that were missing on his wall, the ones I had taken after, everything was the same. 
                    I sat down on the bed and let my hands drop limply between my knees.  What was I doing here?  I felt like I was chasing a ghost.  Looking for something that I had lost a long time ago.  But my earlier revelations held true.  I couldn’t let go of him.  I wouldn’t let go of him. 
                  I felt him before I saw him.  “What are you doing in here?” I looked up at the sharp tone of his voice.  Clay stood in the doorway, not moving.  His face was pale and drawn; his dark hair wildly tussled from his anxious fingers.  His eyes were tired as they watched me warily.  He looked at me as though I were invading his privacy.
                    Which sort of pissed me off.  When had we become strangers?  When had we stopped being able to read each other?  Because now, staring at him, I wasn’t sure what to expect.  And the way he was looking at me set me on edge.
                    I didn’t get to my feet.  Maybe I should get out, but I was feeling oppositionally defiant and I kept my butt right where it was.  “Looking for you,” I told him honestly.  Clay frowned, still not moving into the room.
                    He seemed hesitant to step into the space that had once been his.  “Are you not staying in here?” I asked, swiping my finger along the bedside table, and then wiping the dust away. 
                    “No, I’ve been sleeping on the couch,” Clay admitted, watching me as I ran my hand down the blue comforter, touching his pillows, smoothing the sheets. 
                    “Why?” I asked him, turning to look at him.  Clay shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as though shielding himself.  From me?  That was crazy.  If anyone should be protecting themselves, it should be me.
                  “I didn’t think I could sleep in here.”  He looked around the room, clearly taking it all in for the first time since he had left.  “Too many memories,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. 
                    “I understand about wanting to hide from memories,” I said bitterly.  I turned my back to him and picked up the sketch book still on the table.  I leafed through the pages leisurely, taking my time.  Trying not to get choked up by the pictures inside.  So many of them I remembered him drawing.  Back when our lives were infinitely more complicated but in some twisted way, much happier.
                    I hadn’t realized Clay had come into the room until I felt the bed dip.  I felt the heat of his body beside me.  We weren’t touching; the air between us much wider than it ever would have been before .  But it was still the closest we had been in three months.  I bit down on my lip to stop myself from sobbing at the relief of seeing him again.  Of being near him.
                    The silence spread out in front of us, neither of us doing anything to break it.  As though words would ruin this perfect piece of time we were being blessed with.  In our reality, it could be over in an instant.  And I wanted to prolong the inevitable, forever.
                    But like everything, the silence had to end.  Clay reached out and took the sketch pad from my hands and closed it, leaning over me to put it back on the bedside table.  I could smell the musky scent of his cologne and willed myself to not lean into him. 
                    “I should get downstairs,” Clay said quietly, though he didn’t get to his feet.  I laced my hands in my lap and