Page 60 of Pumped

I’ve already given up so much of the life I knew. And still, this thing with Everest is demanding more of me. It’s overshadowed every other desire, obliterated every other aspiration. It’s consuming me until there’s nothing left, until everything I am and have is his.

And yet, I want more. I want to go deeper into this thing and get closer to Everest.

I want to wake up like this every day.

Everest is wrapped around me like a goddamn octopus. Like I said he would be. His face is pressed against my cheek. His body is half on top of mine. Our legs are tangled together like knotted ropes.

I want to turn into him and burrow into his warmth. I want to find shelter and safety in his arms. I want to drown in him. So much so that I don’t recognize myself anymore.

Is it possible to feel scared shitless and exhilarated at the same time? Is it possible to want something with my entire being and yet be petrified of it?

From the first floor come sounds of shuffling feet. Someone’s awake.

With more reluctance than I want to admit, I ease myself out from under Everest’s tentacles. Arms empty, Everest grabs the pillow and curls himself around it, burying his face into the spot where my head rested. My heart somersaults in my chest at the sight, at how much Everest doesn’t want to let me go.

I don’t want to let you go either, asshole.And that is precisely the problem.

A quick trip to the bathroom and a change of clothes later, I quietly ascend the stairs. Mom’s in the kitchen and the coffee is already brewing.

She turns and smiles when she sees me. “Sleep well?”

I clear my throat before answering. “Yeah, fine.”

“The sectional wasn’t too small?”

I choke on my damn saliva. With Everest sprawled across me the entire night, we definitely had more than enough space. “No, nope, it was fine.”

Mom lifts an eyebrow at me. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” My voice is several tones higher than normal.

“You’re saying ‘fine’ a lot, which makes me think that perhaps everything is not fine.”

Arms crossed, I stare into the distance, not really seeing anything. I don’t know how to respond, what I’m supposed to say. I’m not entirely certain how I feel, never mind finding the words to voice it out loud.

A steaming mug of coffee appears on the counter in front of me. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

Picking up the mug, I follow Mom out to the patio just off the kitchen. It overlooks the backyard, with a full set of furniture and Dad’s big fancy barbecue.

This early in the morning, it feels like we are the only two people on the planet. The sun is still low in the sky and the air has a sharp crispness to it. The freshly cut grass is covered in dew—reminding me of Everest’s unique scent—and the only sound to be heard is the chirping of birds in the distance.

Mom and I sit side by side, soaking in the peacefulness. Neither of us speak for several long moments. Mom eventually breaks the silence.

“You’ll feel better once you get it off your chest.”

I turn away from the scene in front of us to find Mom regarding me with a knowing look. Does she know? Did Everest tell her? Has she just picked it up from the way we’ve been interacting with each other?

She lifts a questioning eyebrow.

“Everest and I are sleeping together.”

I hold my breath, waiting for I don’t know what. For a sinkhole to open up under the house. For a meteor to fall from the sky. For the furniture we’re sitting on to spontaneously combust.

None of that happens, though. The world doesn’t end.

Mom doesn’t react either. She just lifts her mug to take another sip of coffee, then lowers it into her lap. “Oh.”

“Did you know?”

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