The door suddenly opens revealing Gavin. He looks at me. He is holding a pot of water. There is also a blanket hanging on his arm.
"Lyrica?" he asks. Then relief washes over him. He strides towards me, places the water on the bedside table, and embraces me. "Oh, damn! I thought you were really dead! Like dead-dead, fucked-up dead! I thought I would never get to make love with you!"
Having arms around me that do not belong to either Calais or my family, I still latch onto him. I respond to him and hug him. Is this what Lyrica did when she feels so bad?
"There, there. You had a rough night," he consoles, massaging my back and trying to calm me down.
And yet, I bury my face in his chest, crying and weeping even if I feel so weak. He keeps quiet as he squeezes my body and kisses the top of my head. I don't care. Just for this moment, I will allow him, especially when he's the only one willing to offer me comfort.
