One Week Girlfriend part 1

against my hair, his low, deep voice soothing me, lulling me into a false hope I’m too tired to fight.
    I open my eyes, staring unseeingly into the dark. “What are you most thankful for?” I ask, my breath lodged in my throat. I both want to know and dread knowing what he’s about to say.
    He’s silent for a moment, as if gathering up the courage and my heart constricts for him. “You. Being here, spending time with you, how you take care of me no matter how hard I try to push you away.” His voice hitches and he clears his throat. “I’m thankful for you.”
    I say nothing and thankfully, neither does he for long, too-quiet minutes. My throat is clogged with some unknown emotion I can’t quite but my finger on and I try to swallow past it, but it’s no use. His muscular arms are tight around me, I feel like I can’t move, I can’t breathe and with a little cry I slide down and slip out of his embrace, falling out of the bed when I do so.
    I scramble to my feet, hear him sit up, the blankets rustling with his movements. “Fable, what’s wrong?”
    Now I’m the one who’s panicking and I hate it. I feel terrible. He didn’t ask for this sort of crappy treatment. He’s just laid his heart out and said he’s thankful for me and here I go trying to escape. Scared of what he’s saying and how wonderfully real it feels.
    But it’s not real. He’s caught up, just like I’m caught up and I can’t differentiate what’s real and what’s fake anymore. I know he’s in the same place. He wants us to be real and it’s easy to think we’ll work together when we’re all alone, pretending to be something we’re not.
    When we return to the real world, we’ll see how different we are. How we could never be a couple.
    I’m not good enough for the likes of Andrew D. Callahan.
    “I—I need to take a shower.” I suddenly do. The idea of scalding hot water washing away all of my tumultuous emotions has massive appeal and I need to get out of here.
    “All right.” He clears his throat, and I wonder if he realizes how uncomfortable I am. He must. “Will you…will you come back to bed with me when you’re done?”
    It took everything out of him to say that, I could tell, just by the tone of his voice. “Sure,” I lie, feeling terrible. I am the worst sort of person, lying to him. I hate liars. But I should hate me because I’m only lying to myself, thinking Drew can somehow, some way, feel something for me.
    I escape his room and hide away in the bathroom, taking the hottest shower I can stand. I scrub at my skin until its red and raw, the steam billowing within the small room and the hot air making me dizzy. Tears are streaming down my face as I cry ugly, soundless sobs that wrack my body. I don’t understand why I’m so sad or why I need to get away from Drew. I don’t regret what I did for him, how I touched him and brought him relief. Release. If my touching him helped him erase even a little bit of what haunts him, I’m happy I could do that. It’s the least he deserves.
    But my reaction to all of this is off the charts ridiculous. I’m falling apart. I don’t want to become dependent on Drew, yet it’s too late. I am. Slowly but surely I am and if I don’t stop it soon, my heart will become so entwined with his, I know I will literally bleed if we’re ever separated.
    A shuddering breath escapes me as I step out of the shower and hurriedly dry myself off. I sneak back into my bedroom and slip on an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then dive beneath my cold as ice sheets and pull the covers over me, my still hot body shivering from the difference in temperature compared to the chilled in the room.
    I’m totally exhausted and emotionally drained, but I don’t sleep well for the rest of the night, tossing and turning, thinking of Drew all alone in the next room. I abandoned him. I let him down.
    I’m no better than my mother.
    With that realization, I cry.

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
    Day 5 (Thanksgiving), 12:55 p.m .
     
    The more I push you away, the more I want you to push back . – Drew Callahan
     
    Fable
     
    “Mom’s not making Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask incredulously, fighting the urge to rush outside and inhale a cigarette. My nerves are frazzled and my hands are literally shaking, but I only have two cigs left in my secret pack. The one that was full when I arrived here. I need to save them.
    “Nope. She told me there was a frozen turkey dinner in the freezer