Into the Clear Water - B. Celeste

Chapter One

The metal sound of a zipper pulling up is what stirs me from a restless sleep where my body is molded into the right side of the mattress. A pointless need to turn around plagues my body, but I force myself still and listen to his silent routine—the ruffled cotton of a worn tee against sculpted inked flesh, the scraping plastic of a scratched phone case against an old nightstand, and the slightest creaking of floorboards under his weighted feet.

There’s a pause, a minor hitch in breath, before the full lips my body has become well acquainted with press against the side of my temple. Not once do I open my eyes to meet the baby blues that I know are studying my naked body barely being covered by the thin sheet. Instead, I let him sneak out of the bedroom without a word.

No, goodnight.

No, I love you.

Just like we silently agreed.

The door clicks softly behind him shortly before the one directly across the hall opens. Loosening a shaky breath, I sit up and try to ignore the heavy absence of his body heat. All that ever remains when darkness bathes the room is his Armani cologne that sticks to the bedding.

Grasping the comforter that’s fallen off the edge of the bed, I examine the faintest glow of moonlight creeping through the busted blinds. My eyes focus on the little flakes of snow falling gracefully from the sky, locking my mind in the memories of tan skin and a bright smile that winter took from me three years ago.

No longer do I hear the husky laugh that would poke fun of my many layers of clothing when the temperature dropped below fifty, or the gravelly voice that brought goosebumps to my arms despite his teasing when I cautioned him for driving when snow squalls hit. My heart no longer clenches over deep-set dimples or speckled brown eyes that made me blush whenever they paid me any attention.

The hammering heart in my tight ribcage is no longer caused by the love I pined for, but for the love I’d never have again.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bedframe, I absently stare at the wooden picture frame resting six inches away. Jaw tight, I slip out of bed with the comforter wrapped around my body and think better of doing the walk of shame to the hallway bathroom I share with my roommates.

There’s a soft knock on my bedroom door, too quiet and abnormal to be his. Still, my body freezes when it cracks open and reveals tangled strawberry blonde hair and big brown eyes tilted upward at me. She reaches out, her freckled fair hand squeezing my porcelain one.

“Bad dream, Nugget?” I whisper, grabbing the oversized tee that had been stripped off me with careful precision hours before.

After quickly slipping it on, I turn to find her tiny palms rubbing her eyes. Kneeling to her level, I brush frizzy bedhead out of her face and peck a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s both try getting some sleep, okay?”

I pick her up and put her in bed next to me, her little body emphasizing the vast difference of who occupied it before her.

Reaching for the picture frame on the nightstand, I place it facedown and crawl in beside her with no other choice but to brush off the suffocating feelings overwhelming my conscience.

“I love you, Ainsley.”

Another hand squeeze.

The bedroom is filtered by a dull dawn light telling me it’s too early when the tug on my shirt wakes me from a partial state of unconsciousness. I see the red flashing numbers on my alarm first, then the round brown eyes mere inches from my face filled with anticipation as she tugs on me again.

“Too early,” I murmur, tempted to bury my squinted eyes in my pillow.

She doesn’t relent.

Blowing out a breath, I note the early morning numbers again on my clock before sitting up in bed.

Ainsley gestures toward the door.

“Okay, okay.”

Before I follow her out, I slip on a pair of pajama pants covered in candy canes from my floor and let her pull me into the hallway with strength nobody her age should have. I freeze when the door across the hall opens, and a shirtless lean figure appears in only a black pair of low-riding sweatpants.

Swallowing, I give him a small smile.

“Good morning,” I greet, voice raspy as it always is in the morning.

Ainsley tugs on my hand and points to the stairs, where the decorated tree peeks

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