month I think about it all, about what was on the TV, about what Shauna said, about moving on.

I talk to Natalia about it, I go out with Shauna, I start to consider (I said consider) the possibility of forgiving myself, the possibility of letting go of the crushing, crippling, consuming guilt. Because all I know is that it's not doing me any good, or anyone else.

I would love to spend time with my family again, where we're not all still reeling.

I would like to ease the perpetual knot in my stomach, the ache in my heart, the tiredness in my bones.

I think it can happen.

And soon I realize that it's been eight months since Caleb died, and I've heard people say that after eight month things are supposed to fade, but that's just crap.

Yes, everything is duller, easier, but never easy. It will never truly fade.

•§•

thing, however, that isn't even close to being resolved. It fills my thoughts during the day, keeps me awake at night. It's a kind of nagging, and it needs an answer that I can't seem to find on my own.

And the bed is still so incredibly empty, and so I toss and turn and the what ifs and what abouts don't stop, and I am so restless and awake because I suddenly cannot sleep alone in this bed. My eyes won't close and I try to squeeze them shut but there is just one face, one kind of question, that fills my every thought and breath and I need to know.

Ever since I heard them say those things on the news, I haven't stopped thinking about it, him.

And I know that everything is changing because instead of feeling angry and guilty and ashamed I'm just curious, bright, warm.

I sit up in my bed, and the last couple of days I've been able to think of Caleb without that painful squeeze in my chest, and, okay, maybe that eight months thing wasn't total BS. I think of Caleb, and there is a golden glow and yeah it was a tragedy but there is simply nothing anyone can do. I get it now.

Acceptance.

In this moment, I realize, I have found it.

And eventually, I do sleep, and there is a kind of peace in it.

•§•

, and the night after that, and the next one are all filled with my restlessness.

Except it's not hurt or pain in missing Caleb—I can think of him without bursting into tears, I can remember his smile and begin to smile back.

It's that other thing I mentioned that keeps bothering me, and it's good that it's a Friday night because my thoughts won't leave me alone and I can't sleep. I need to know.

I'm not even sure exactly what kind of answers I'm looking for, but I need something, and I. Can't. Sleep.

I hear the clock ticking, my head is filled with warm mush, and it's hot in my apartment, and even with the cool sheets against my skin it's impossible.

There is only one thing I can think of, and it makes me even warmer.

Bad idea.

But that's only a small, weak voice. The rest of me is alight, waiting. I should feel so wrong for even thinking it, but I don't. It seems so necessary, now.

And so, after losing a useless battle I slide out of bed and creep out of my room and into the hallway outside my apartment and yeah it's like 1 in the morning but almost every single part of me has decided that this needs to happen.

I'm not entirely sure what, or why.

I knock softly on his door and of course he would be sleeping but really I don't care. He totally owes me, anyway.

It is dark and the air around me is warm and quiet and I feel lighter than I have in a long, long time.

And now there is a new knot it my chest, but it has nothing to do with grief.

And eventually the door clicks open, and I wait and my breaths are kinda shallow and I realize I haven't seen him in over eight months, and my heart flutters.

Answers. That's what I came here for.

Except when I lay eyes him, I know that's not really the full truth.

He rubs sleep out of his eyes, he looks so tired and dazed but when he sees me he blinks, confused and so very surprised. Even after being rudely awaken in the middle of the night, he still looks like an angel.

He's topless (I told you it was hot in here) and his grey sweats are low on his hips and in the faint glow of light coming from his apartment his skin is golden, his dark eyes sparkle. He looks breathtaking. The same.

And his eyes slide down to my bare legs and oh, I'm not wearing anything besides an oversized t-shirt and panties, and just seeing him makes every inch of me tingle, stupid. I didn't really think this through, I realize.

We just stare at each other, because what else are we supposed to do?

He must see something in the angle of my hip and the set of my mouth and the brightness in my eyes because his expression shifts, softens, and his head tilts a little, his lips part, he watches, waits.

"I couldn't sleep." It's quiet, simple, a little breathy.

He studies me, dazed, for a full minute. Then slowly, he steps back, nods his head slightly to the side, silently gestures for me to come in.

I brush lightly past him, and he closes the door behind me.

Normally, I would take in the details of his apartment, curious. But right now all I'm aware of is his presence, as commanding and magnetic as always.

It's so quiet that the only sound is my breathing, his. I face him and he's still looking at me, looking like he doesn't know what to say.

"You okay?" Low, rough. The same heavy voice I remember. It sends shivers down my spine.

I purse my lips, just nod. He nods back.

As soon as I meet his dark gaze, I lose myself in those eyes. They're soft, concerned.

It's a long, long time before either of us moves.

Eventually he just gives me a little, sleepy smile. Running a hand through the thick mess of his hair, he lets out a small sigh.

I guess I owe him an explanation, right? But he looks like he understands.

I whisper, "My place feels really empty." It's at least part of the truth. He doesn't ask for more.

He just leads me silently down the hall into the threshold of another room, where there is a small lamp on a table shedding a bit of light on his unmade bed, the one he was just sleeping in.

He goes in but I hang around at the door. I guess he sees whatever I'm thinking on my flushed face, because he just rolls his eyes, a wry tilt to his lips. "Sleep, Rosalyn. You look like you need it."

Hesitantly, I make my way over to the crumpled sheets piled on top of his bed, sheepish, relieved and embarrassed.

I don't know what exactly I came here for, but it wasn't that, and he seems to know it. He's being kind and it makes me blush.

He waits beside the bed until I make my way under the covers, and they are warm and they feel so foreign and soft and they smell like him. I can admit that I missed that smell.

"You want me to sleep on the couch?" His voice is heavy with sleep. He raises a perfect eyebrow and just the idea of it makes me guilty, because he's acting all sweet. Except I don't really want to be alone.

I bite my lip, shake my head. "I..." I swallow because it's hard to say it. "I miss having someone sleep beside me."

Maybe it's not exactly fair to suggest the idea of Caleb to him but he doesn't seem to mind. He just nods, and his face and his eyes are knowing, tender. He looks so gentle, half asleep.

He wraps himself beneath the blankets but keeps a good distance between us. He doesn't really know exactly what I want, and neither do I.

My chest rises and falls and I kind of face him, and he kind of faces me, too. We don't look directly at each other, don't touch.

Every inch of my skin is hot, my mind is so intensely aware of Nero's body just a small distance from mine and it's even harder to sleep than before. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to feel him. But it's so late, and my brain wants to give in to sleep.

And I know I woke him up, and he's been nothing but nice to me, and I really don't want to bother him anymore than I have.

My eyes float up to settle on his face, and he's already looking at me. His eyes are gentle. "You good?"

"Mhm." I bite my lip. He's so incredibly beautiful. "Thanks."

"Tell me if you need anything." Except he's already yawning, his eyes growing heavy, and it makes me smile just a little.

And with him there, beside me, the heat of his skin apparent even beneath piles of sheets, I fall into a heavy, easy sleep.

***

A/N:

Nero's being a sweetie. Anyone happy to see him again?

Is anyone angry with him...?

I know these last few chapters have been soo damn emotional. I remember reading them about a year after I wrote them and I was actually crying...

XOXO Ami

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