His Blue ✓

53| Argument

I sleepily trace circles on Anson's chest as he lays on his back, surrounded in a pile of covers on his soft bed. The room is dark; the time is late. It's Sunday night.

We're in Anson's room because last night he was asked to stop sleeping in the hospital waiting room. The hospital apparently found out and asked him to go home. Now he's back. I sleep by his side for his comfort- and for my own.

I wonder what he's thinking.

He looks up at the shadows on the ceiling. He should be resting. I yawn just thinking about sleep. He seems to not notice. Questions form in my mind.

He's still awake, I might as well ask.

"Anson." I whisper to him.

"Yeah?" He shifts, but doesn't turn to look at me.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I can't."

"Not tired?" I ask, wondering how that could possibly be.

"No, I'm just too busy thinking."

Really?

"About what?"

He blinks slowly. "Nothing." His voice is barely a whisper.

Fear stirs my chest.

    "You can tell me." I press. "Please."

Please let me into your head.

     "No." He rubs his chest with one hand. "It's nothing." As he speaks, his gaze doesn't waver from the ceiling.

"I think telling me might help." I persist.

"No, thanks."

Silence.

"It's been a long time since you've kept a secret from me."

Unhappiness prickles in my chest at his responses. I frown and stop questioning him.

He just wants me to leave him alone. Well, I get the hint... I know when I'm not wanted. This reminds me of the time in his car- the time when I ran out on him.

That's not a good memory.

As I lay in silence,  I can't help but feel neglected. I internally scold myself for that. I know Bryce's welfare plays a role in Anson's mood. Tonight is no different. Every night has been no different.

It will pass soon, right?

Doubt forces me to change my mind. I start to imagine that Anson doesn't feel closer to me at all. If anything, less so.

Who's to say this is anything about Bryce? I notice my breathing is unsteady.

With unnecessary anxiety forming, I pull away from Anson's body and face away from him. I balance on the edge of his bed.

What am I doing here? I'm not being appreciated, or even helpful.

Behind me, I feel him stir. His hands are on my hip in a moment, he turns me back over to face him.

"Did you need something?" The color of his eyes seems to be gone in the dark. All familiarity of his gaze seems gone in this moment.

"No." I lie, turning back over. I plan to marinate in my bitter thoughts, but Anson surprisingly rolls me over to face him, yet again. I would imagine that in other circumstances, his actions might be more endearing.