Page 40 of Under the Texas Sky
The suite is nice, nicer than anything I’ve been in. The wall of windows across the living room provides a stunning view of the snow capped mountains. The stars are shining brightly above, making the whole scene feel like something out of a movie. But this isn’t a movie, and it doesn’t have a happy ending for us.
There’s an empty bottle of whiskey tipped over on the floor in front of the couch. Kian lies on his side on the ground beside the bottle and yanks the blanket off the couch, covering himself up with it.
He’s drunk. I should leave. Nothing good will come out of this. Nothing.
But I’m a weak man when it comes to Kian.
I sit down beside him, lifting his head gently and resting it in my lap. He doesn’t fight against it as he sinks into my touch. I runmy fingers through his hair, feeling the curly strands dancing across my fingers in a motion so similar to how it used to be.
“How have you been?” I cringe at my own question, because small talk is already not my forte. But it feels forced trying to make small talk with Kian.
“I’ve been okay. Busy working and all that. You?” His words are slightly slurred, but he’s talking to me, so that has to count for something.
“I’m doing good, really good.”I miss you. I love you. Please come home.
“Yeah, still writing?”
I shake my head, then realize he can’t see it. “No, not really.”
Not anything like before.Not poetry with underlying feelings of love for you.My words now are formed together from pain, longing, and need.
“Why?” His voice is quieter now, like it’s sucking up all his energy to talk.
“I lost my muse.” And an artist without his muse is like a cloudy day. Gloomy, and knowing that better days are coming, but you never know when.
“Where did your muse go?”
I pause for a moment, trying to think of what to say. I had all of this planned out, what I would say to Kian when I got the chance. But all the planning in the world couldn’t prepare me to look down at his wild curls and the defined line of his jaw.
“I missed you.” My mumbled words sound faint in the quiet room. I look down to see his eyes are closed, and his breathing remains steady.
How did I ever think I was going to be able to look at him and feel nothing? Well, that’s not right. I knew I would feel something, but I didn’t expect my feelings toward him to still be this strong.
It’s quiet, and his breathing is deep. He fell asleep because I took so long to answer.
I need to get up, and I need to get back to my boyfriend. I came up here to get closure, and I’m obviously not going to be able to do that while he’s like this.
My eyes slowly slide shut, the weight of the day slowly dissipating while the lull of his breathing coaxes me to follow him under…
“Trent?” Kian’s voice cracks, and I have to lift my head off the couch to look down at him. The crick in my neck from the uncomfortable position sends an ache through my head. He rolled over at some point and turned his body up toward the ceiling. The wild mass of curls framing his head like a halo. His bright green eyes are beautiful, even with the remnants of sleep left in them.
I lean forward, like I’ve done so many mornings before to press a kiss to his pouty, pink lips.
Wait. No.
Shit.
What time is it?
I look around frantically for a clock while Kian sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I fell asleep. I fell asleep with my ex-boyfriend. Hunter is going to be so disappointed in me.
“I need to go.” I quickly stand up and rake my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my face and trying to gain back a little bit of the control that I lost.
“Wait– Trent–”
“I can’t, Kian. Okay? Ican’t.” I plead with him to understand, but the Kian in front of me isn’t the same man I used to love. He’s not the same man that laid his head on my lap last night and let me find comfort in him, if only for a miniscule moment.
“Thengo, Trent. Fuck, I’m not going to beg you to stay here when it’s obvious you would rather be anywhere else. Just go,” he says. Which is also not like Kian. I’ve never heard him say the wordfuck.
