Birdie and Vida survived the speech. Stumbling through the door full of excitement as they recounted the highlights. After Owen and I parted ways, I came home, talked myself out of going for a run to calm my nerves, made a protein shake, went for a run, then took a shower and tried to watch something on tv but instead I compulsively checked my phone until they got home.
Now that they're home and safe, I'm glad they want solely for the joy that spilled from them afterward. But the exhaustion that sweeps over me from the day reminds me that the happiness I feel for them comes at a cost. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to just not worry, to not conjure up the worst case scenario, all the evil men lurking in the corners. I'm still so haunted by Austin, still trapped in the fear he instilled in me as a kid.
"You look tired." Birdie says emerging from our room in a pair of shorts that get lost beneath one of my tshirts, her socks pulled up her bare legs and her curls piled on top of her head in a mess, having changed from the outfit she wore to the speech.
"I am." I confess on a yawn.
She gives me a soft smile, "why don't you take a nap?"
I probably should, I've been trying to catch sleep any time I can, knowing that I'm no longer starting on a decline, I'm declining, that much is obvious. My sleep has been inconsistent, not that it's ever been that consistent and today was hard, even with a friendly game of basketball with Owen. My body feels weighed down but I force myself off the couch. I stagger slightly, my vision going black as my heart pounds in my chest. It's a symptom that's been happening more and more whenever I stand abruptly.
"Holt.."
"I'm okay." I tell her, my vision coming back just as quickly as it went and I right myself.
But Birdie watches me with concern in her eyes as I make my way toward, padding quietly across the hardwood floor. I try to avoid her gaze, not wanting to have this conversation because I know, I get it. I'm in a bad spot.
She lets me pass, following me to our room and I step out of my joggers and pull the covers down. The bed dips bedside me and I can feel her watching me, studying my every move, analyzing everything I'm doing.
"I'm worried about you." She finally says.
I reach for her hand, her long slender fingers curling around mine. She's warm, her skin soft, contrasting against mine and I raise our hands to kiss hers.
"I'm sorry." I tell her. I'm not trying to be a burden.
I have an appointment with Dr. Trent coming up and another one with Dr. Aldrich. If I can just cut out a few trips to the gym and eat a little more I'll probably be fine.
"Holt." Her fingers tighten around mine and I look at her, hazel eyes dancing between mine with apprehension.
There's a million questions that linger in their depths but I don't have the answers. I'm trying not to slide too far down but I'm just trying to claw my way out from under all the anxiety. I'm doing what usually works, I'm trying to manage.
"I'll talk to Dr. Trent and the nutritionist." I mumble as sleep comes knocking for me.
And I will, I'm not giving Birdie false promises. If it'll make her worry less, I will.
"I need you to take care of yourself." She whispers, her voice pained and I know she's thinking of Drew.
I squeeze her hand tighter. "I will, I promise."
———————
The last bit of afternoon light slips through the cracks in the blinds as I roll over. The house is quiet and like always I reach for Blue.
He's not here.
I reach for Birdie after but she's no longer beside me either, but she was right, I needed a nap. The clock reads 6:48 as I roll out of bed and run my hands through my hair. I don't feel caught up on sleep.
"Babe?" Birdie's voice reaches me from down the hall. "You up?"
A haze of sleep carries me from my room out into the hall to where Birdie's curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee and a book. She looks cozy and warm and I contemplate going to curl up beside her.
"Sleep good?" She asks
I let out a yawn, goosebumps prickling my bare skin as I stand in the hallway with just a pair of shorts on.
"Sort of." Its about as honest of an answer as I can give.
I don't sleep great. Even when I sleep well, it's never great. I might be incapable of doing so. My subconscious loves to torture me.
Birdie gives me a sympathetic smile, between my mom and her they've suggested countless things to help aid in my sleep. White noise, melatonin, sleepy time tea, pre sleep workout, pre sleep yoga or meditation, different scents, breathing techniques. Sometimes they helped, sometimes they didn't, but all the time I still slept like crap.
Dr. Aldrich offered to write me a script for a sleep medication but I declined.
"Bianca texted me a few minutes ago. Wanted to know if we wanted to get some drinks with her and Mike. They just finished dinner." Birdie says.
I am always down for staying at home. I like the quiet and the familiarity of it. I don't have to worry about triggers and panic attacks. But I'm also aware of how unhealthy that is plus the hopefulness that spills out of Birdie. She loves going out not that she'd ever say that. And I know that if I said I didn't want to she wouldn't push it. She's always been more understanding than anyone in the world deserves, including me.
"Sure." I agree but only because I can see how badly Birdie wants me to say yes, tucking my feet into my slippers I ask, "How do I look?"
Birdie grins, laughter tumbling from her as she unfolds herself from the couch and pads across the floor to me. She's got a pair of sweat shorts on, socks pulled up to her mid calves and one of my T-shirt's on. It might possibly be my favorite outfit ever on her.
"Far too good to go out in public." She muses.
I love Birdie. Every single piece of her. It goes beyond her beauty and past her personality. To her soul, to her patience and awareness. The way she's grown with me, for me.
There's still days when touch is hard. When it takes all I have not to crumble under someone's touch. She's somehow been able to navigate those days with so much delicacy, so much finesse and gentleness that even on my worst days, I can seek refuge with her.
She always reaches for my arm first, never abrupt, never rough. Some people are just aggressive when they interact, not because they're mean or they're not nice, that's just how they show affection.
Like this guy Drew and I used to hang out with in college. He used to love to shove you in the shoulder if he thought you were funny or flick his wrist, slapping you in the chest if he wanted your attention. It was never malicious but I never was able to cope with it. And he never seemed to remember all the countless times I quietly asked him to stop, saying "sure thing man" before his hand would connect with my chest. It took Drew calling him out during a class before he stopped. He also stopped talking to us shortly after that.
Birdie's warm fingers graze my arm, her hazel eyes locked with mine. I don't jump or suck in a breath or tense up when her warm skin meets mine. Instead tingles race across my body, goosebumps dimpling my skin as her hand trails up my arm to my bare shoulder. She holds my gaze, her fingertips grazing my chest, then down across my abdomen.
"If I took you out like this everyone would be after you." Her voice has dropped a little lower, seductive and alluring. "I don't like to share."
I grin but only because we both know that she's it. I will never love another woman the way I do Birdie.
Her hand slips across my side to my back, both of us coming closer to one another when I finally tangle my hands in her curls. My heart beats hard in my chest, throwing itself against my chest cavity as my blood pumps hard through my body filling me with lust.
"Let's meet them in a few minutes." Birdie's breath warms my face before I close the distance between our lips and kiss her.
