Page 104 of Collide
Loneliness does strange things to people. It makes them desperate. It makes them weak. Maybe that’s why, even after everything, I don’t pull away. My eyes grow heavy, my body sinking into the mattress beside him.
Two lonely hearts, finding solace in each other.
Sleep takes me, not because I’m tired, but because for the first time today, I stop fighting myself.
Chapter 15
Iris
The first thing I register is warmth. The second is weight—his head on my chest and his arm draped lazily across my waist, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing inches from my face. My brain, still sluggish from sleep, takes a second to catch up. Then it slams into me all at once.
Alex.
In my bed.
My eyes snap open. My breath catches. Technically, our first sleepover. The realization makes my stomach flip.
Memories of last night flash back, him drunk, sad and defeated.
This is fine. This means nothing. It was one night, and me being a decent human being.And yet, my heart doesn’t quite get the memo as it hammers against my ribs.
The weight of him and this whole situation presses heavily into my body, making me squirm.
He stirs and groans.
“Alex?” I rouse him gently.
His head turns to meet mine, his eyes open, and realization creeps over his face, but I see it—the slow unfurling of recognition as his mind catches up. His lips part like he’s aboutto say something, then close again. A beat of silence stretches between us.
Then, his arm tightens, slightly, like a reflex before he seems to realize where he is, where we are.
“Elena,” he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep, my name rolling off his tongue like a secret. His brows pull together, and I brace myself for the questions. But they never come.
Instead, he exhales a slow breath and shifts, his body brushing against mine in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself.
His voice is softer when he speaks again. “Did I…” His brows knit deeper as he struggles through the fog of memory.
“You didn’t do anything,” I say, my voice firmer than I expected. “You were drunk. I…” My throat bobs as I swallow. “I didn’t want you to bealone.”
His lips press together, his jaw ticking slightly like he’s trying to figure out how to respond to that. Then, his eyes flicker over me, slow and searching.
I should move. Get up. Create space. But I don’t.
Because his face is inches from mine, and in this hazy, morning-lit moment, it doesn’t feel reckless. It doesn’t feel like a mistake.
It just feels…inevitable.
His fingers pulse against my waist, and for a second, I think he’s going to pull away. But then his thumb brushes the fabric of my shirt, a whisper of a touch that causes my breath to falter.
Even though I’m furious at him, I’m more annoyed at my body’s reaction toward his touch, his presence enough to undo me.
“Elena.” He whispers it, reverent. Heavy with all the things he wants to say, the explanation for what happened between us.
“Hungry?” I ask, trying to break the tension.
His eyes darken, and he nods.
As I order room service, Alex takes a much-needed shower. He emerges minutes later, clad in a plush robe, his damp hair curling at the ends. His movements are slower, his usual effortless confidence dulled by exhaustion and too much alcohol from the night before.
