Salty

Twenty-Seven | Cocktails and Confessions

Twenty-Seven | Sloan

My covers were yanked from a sleepy grasp, followed by a sharp, high-pitched gasp for air. It hadn't come from me, and now I was wide awake. The man who was sleeping beside me only moments ago was now sitting up, gasping for air and scratching at his neck.

"Ollie!" I sat up and got to my knees beside him. He continued to fight for his air, eyes wide and panicked. "Ollie, what's wrong?"

Using both hands, I held his face, forcing him to look at me—a hard feat in a room that was currently dark. Reaching to the bedside table, I turned on the light. Ollie wasn't speaking, just hyperventilating the same way I do when having Steve-induced panic attacks. Sweat was pouring from his skin; even though to the touch, he was still cold from the freezing room. Ollie clutched my wrists tightly and pulled me closer.

"Breathe," I whispered, pecking the corner of his mouth with a kiss.

Ollie did what he was told, taking a heavy breath in and slowly releasing it. My panic didn't stop even when his breathing had returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, because I could still feel how fast his heart was racing when I placed a palm on his clammy chest. His head dropped to my shoulder, still holding my wrists to keep me right here in the bed we'd been sharing for the last week.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, releasing his hold on me. My shaking hands fell back to my lap. "Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."

How was I supposed to sleep after that? Ollie left the bed, taking the empty glass from the table beside us with him. I stayed kneeling, listening to the faucet turn on and off in the bathroom across the hall, while waiting for him to return to the bed. He never came back.

My phone was still laying beside the pillow, right beside the food safety textbook I'd been reading and trying to prepare for the first day back to class in the morning. I recalled the clock being midnight the last time I'd picked up the phone. That's when I dropped the book and gave into dozing while Ollie was snoring off and on beside me. Now, looking at the phone once more, I saw that was all of twenty minutes ago.

There was little hope that he'd return to the bed again tonight. Of the last ten plus days we'd been together, I'd woken in his arms only twice. This was the first time I'd stayed up this late while he was already sleeping. Now, as I laid here shivering from the cold apartment drafts and fighting to pull the covers back up, I wondered how many times he'd woken just like this without me realizing it.

I had a bad feeling it was around eight times.

>><<

The absolute best part of Ollie's apartment was the bathroom. It was a first for me, loving a room with a toilet over one with several working appliances and a stocked refrigerator. Not the case here. After being shown pictures of the renovation process of the old attic for storage to a bachelor pad, this room was the most eye-catching.

Similar to the rest of the apartment, Ollie left the exterior walls of his bathroom an exposed brick—which amounted to two of the walls of his corner shower. And this shower was about the size of my entire bathroom back at Hallie's and my place. The other two walls of the shower were a very clear glass, which made it extra fun when walking in as a certain tattooed chef showered. The other walls were a cool gray, with the original wooden floors of the room still intact. The backsplash behind the vanity was the original brass stamped ceiling that once hung in the kitchen. They had to swap it out to keep up with code, but Ollie said he couldn't bring himself to toss it when it had history with his grandfather's building. He made all the accents fixtures and drawer pulls match—that included the feet of the clawfoot tub. Ollie told me to use it, saying it never got use, but I was too addicted to the shower to try it.