A homeless thief breaks into a house that has nothing worth stealing - except for the heart of a lonely man who is obsessed with time.
*****
Blake has been living on the streets for...
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-Jordan-
Blake and I stayed up that night, waiting for midnight. We were in my bed, looking out of the massive window that was my outer wall. Behind the balcony, I could see the clear sky and the fireworks. We had built a comfy backrest with pillows and covers at the end of my bed so we could watch the fireworks under the warm blankets. I was still feeling shaky and anxious about my hair, so I stayed deep under Blake's arm, with my own wrapped around his chest.
"This is not how I imagined spending my New Year this time," Blake said with a chuckle, and kissed my temple.
"Would you be surprised if I said I know exactly how you feel?" I said, making him laugh harder.
"Yeah, this year has been weird for both of us," he nodded slowly, caressing my shoulder.
His good mood made me smile as well. It was so easy to forget my fears when he was there...
I stared at the sky for a moment, thinking about the past year. In my memories, I went back to the time before I met Blake. Everything looked so gray back then. I had no future, or even hope to have one. Loneliness was all I knew. I hadn't even seen my family in person in years.
And now...
I hesitated for a moment, but then I touched my hair. It was still in a ponytail because I didn't have the strength to do anything about it. It still scared me, but not as much as I thought I would. I guess Blake noticed my silence since he moved partly on his side so he could place his hand on my stomach. I looked up to see his smile.
"How are you?" he asked gently.
"Pretty good. Better than I hoped. Much better, actually," I replied and turned to look at my hair again. I picked up a small strand hesitantly and touched the tips carefully.
"Good," he muttered, planting a kiss on my cheek.
I played with the strand for a moment, trying to get used to it, but soon I started to focus more on the hand that was slowly caressing my stomach. He usually didn't do that, so it was easy to get distracted by.
I turned to look at him again. His lips were really close to mine. The way he looked back at me made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was easy to believe in myself when he was next to me.
"I didn't faint," I whispered. "I got my hair cut and I didn't faint."
"Because you're strong, my love," he spoke just as quietly, resting his head against mine.
I believed him. For the first time, I truly believed him.
And that was my turning point.
*****
The first thing I did was to finally confess to my psychiatrist that I had kept secrets from him. I told him about Blake – not the truth about how we met, but the version my mother told everyone – and he seemed frustrated with me, but he hid it well. I felt bad for keeping things from him since he really wanted to help me. Thankfully, he seemed more interested in hearing about my progress than being mad at me. By the end of the call, he promised to come up with a new treatment plan that would suit me and my current situation better.
