Page 22 of Samuel's Heart

I walk into the bathroom, and a sigh of relief and pleasure leaves my mouth when the hot water cascades over me, relaxing my tired muscles.

I’m half asleep when I’m done. I walk out with my towel tied around my waist and lie on the bed.

I wish I could just close my eyes and sleep until this tiredness infusing my bones goes away and I can be human again. Instead, like every night, I talk to John before I try to fall asleep.

Tonight is different from previous nights, because tomorrow I’ll have the chance to see a part of John still alive.

“Hi darling,” I whisper. “I miss you. Today has been an okay day. I’m in Manchester . . .” I continue with my recalling of the day until John knows as much as me.

My eyes grow heavier and heavier, and for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to fall asleep. With a last word to my lost love, I let Morpheus take me to his world of sand, hoping to have a dreamless night.

“Goodnight, my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’m one step closer to finally seeing him, but even the excitement and joy aren’t enough to take away the sleepiness.

Chapter Nine

Samuel

The pain in my hips pulls me out of a dreamless sleep. There’s no need for me to look around to know I’m not in my room. The bed under me is a clear reminder that I’m in the middle of nowhere, doing something I shouldn’t. Maybe the pain I’m already suffering today is karma.

I’m like a turtle trying to get out of the bed, all slow movements, and stop-and-go when the pain is too much to handle.

Slowly, I walk to the bathroom, looking like a ninety-year-old instead of a fit and strong thirty-year-old. I guess that’s what being thrown out of a window does to the body.

The hot water in the shower slowly helps my body wake and the pain subside, leaving the usual ache behind. Something I can live with.

When I’m dressed, I walk out to knock on the door next to mine and move my weight from one foot to the other, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on the damaged part of my body.

I need breakfast, and to sit down for a bit. Need to save energy for the long day ahead.

“Good morning,” I say, when a very sleepy Rory opens the door. I muffle my laugh with a cough when I spot Rory’s bed head.

“Morning,” he replies, turning around to go back into the room, leaving the door open as an invitation for me to enter.

The bed is a mess, the covers are on the floor, and one of the pillows is deformed, as if someone spent the night punching it, strangling it, or hugging it close. I guess the latter to be true. With the impending encounter with a person who’s alive because of his boyfriend, I bet memories are pulling at him.

“How are you?” we ask at the same time. I gesture for him to reply, and after a bit of hesitation, he goes ahead.

“I’m okay. I slept without dreams plaguing me.” His surprise is kind of endearing, and the need to cuddle him is so strong, I have to push my hands in my pockets to avoid following through.

“How are you?” His look hinting at a truth for a truth.

“I’ll be better after breakfast and sitting down for a bit. My body is not my friend in the morning.”

His shoulders drop with my reply as if he was waiting for me to brush off his question, and happy he got a real answer instead.

“I need a shower before breakfast. Do you want to wait downstairs or here?”

His question is like a request for me to stay here, as if he’s afraid to be alone. Or maybe he thinks I’ll leave him behind.

“I’ll wait here,” I reply, surprising both of us. Maybe staying this close will help me understand why his presence is affecting me so much.

There’s not much to do in the room, so I sit on the edge of the bed and avoid looking directly at the bathroom door, now completely closed.

The sound of water fills the room, even as I try my best to not listen to anything—I don’t want a hard-on when he comes out.

That’s an afterthought once he enters the room, because my cock takes milliseconds to fill, and asks to be released. A towel sits low on his hips, the expanse of his chest in plain view, and rivulets of water slowly slide across his pectorals, then down to his abs, until they stop to be absorbed by the towel. I lick my lips as if to savour them before they’re gone.

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