Page 209 of Perfect
“Theo, I’m right here. I’m okay. This is real.” I stare down at her, and I can’t say anything, can barely feel anything but the adrenaline and panic still coursing through me, but I need her. I kneel between her legs and spit on my hand, leaning down to kiss her again as I start touching her desperately.
She makes a soft whimper and pulls me into her tightly, kissing me back hard. I do the bare fucking minimum to push inside her, and she gasps harshly when I do. I grab one of her wrists and pin it to the bed, keeping my fingers on her pulse as I fuck her frantically, focused solely on the feeling of her rapid heartbeat. Her other arm winds around my neck and I hear her soft gasps turn ragged as she starts crying beneath me.
It’s the wrong kind of crying, I know that, but I’m already too far gone.
I barely feel the orgasm before I start crying, too, pulling her against my chest so hard I can hear her struggling to take in breaths. I let go of her a little, keeping my arm locked securely around her waist and cupping the back of her head with my other hand. She tangles her legs into mine, her fingers digging into my skin as she tries to get closer.
We lay there crying for a long time before one of us takes a deep breath and the other follows, and we start to calm each other down slowly, anchoring each other. We lay like that, syncing our breath to each other, feeling our hearts beat out the same rhythm at different times, a call and response of connection.
***
Later that morning, Alex drives us home so I can look at the scenery. I look at her instead, but I don’t bother trying to memorize her anymore.
I know her as well as I know myself, if not better.
She takes the long way, driving along the coast, one of her hands in mine the whole way home. We don’t talk about anything. There are no more scheduled visits, no more timed phone calls, no more rush to get everything out as quickly as possible.
We have nothing but time now.
When we drive through Warrenton and I finally see the low hill of Astoria rising out of the river, I grip Alex’s hand tightly and let out a long breath, relaxing a little more. She drives us along the highway, turning off and heading up the hill towards our house.
I hated living in the big, empty house I grew up in when I got out of prison the first time. It was a reminder of exactly how badly I’d fucked my life up, of what a disappointment I was, of who I should have been but wasn’t. When Alex pulls up the driveway, the house looks different to me, almost the way it did when I was a little kid.
It seems inviting again, like a sanctuary, like ahome.
“Welcome home,” Alex says as she parks the car and flashes me a wide smile. I look over at her and feel myself melt. I don’t know what I did right or how the fuck I got this lucky, but I know this is real. I kiss the back of her hand, flashing her a quick smile.
“I got home yesterday.” She rolls her eyes at me, failing miserably to hide that she’s tearing up.
“Me, too.”
60
ALEX
TUESDAY, AUGUST 5
The second Theo walks in the door, his hand grips mine tightly as he kicks off his shoes. He drops his bag and drifts slowly down the hall, dragging me along with him, looking around with wide eyes.
“Holy shit, Alex,” he whispers. “This place feels like ahome.”
“It’sourhome,” I say quietly, and he looks down at me with something close to confusion. A moment later his expression clears, and his shoulders lower and the tension in his body unspools until he’s completely relaxed, vulnerable and happy and calm in a way I’veneverseen. Warmth floods my chest as I watch him, and he pulls me up into his arms and spins mearound, which he’sneverdone before, and he seems giddy as he kisses me over and over.
This is the happiest I’ve ever seen Theo, and I love that I get to make him feel like this.
I follow him from room to room, trying to see the house through his eyes. I’m used to it now, but I did so much redecorating over the last year that the house is barely recognizable. I kept some of the furniture Theo bought, but replaced a lot of it with pieces that fit better with the house.
I also went through everything in the attic and brought down things I liked – photographs, some mid-century wall art, and a collection of large, intricate handwoven baskets. The house is warm and eclectic now, with lots of my and my mom’s art on the walls, and framed photos of Theo and I and our families scattered around the house.
I only chose pictures of us where I could tell we were happy, and the polaroid of us in front of the tree at Christmas is in the living room, pride of place on the mantle.
Theo’s thrilled about every change I’ve made, and as I trail him around the house, I start to feel comfortable in the house in a way I haven’t been before. I’ve made the house entirely suited to my tastes, but it’s always just been a big, empty house that I lived in. Theo’s ecstatic energy fills up the space so much that the house feels warm and welcoming.
It’sfinallya home now.
Theo bounces in between rooms, and when he enters the living room, he freezes, staring at the huge, slightly abstract version of the wreck of theIredalehung over the mantle.
Theo looks over at me, surprised and excited. “Alex, this isinsane. You’re super talented, you know that?”
