The bed dipped and his body heat was gone. I heard him rummaging around in his dresser, then the bedroom door opening. I heard another door closed and assumed he'd gone into the bathroom.
I rolled onto my back, taking the blanket with me to cover myself. I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. I didn't know what to do. Leave now while he was in the bathroom. Go upstairs to my own, take the time to shower and get my head together before coming back downstairs for the inevitable talk.
Or would he come back from the bathroom, see I was gone and assume that I regretted what we'd done? I didn't want to hurt him like that. If there was any chance he felt what I did, I didn't want to risk losing that on a misunderstanding.
So I stayed. I closed my eyes and tried to think of the best way to approach things, all the while keeping my ears straining for any sound of his return. When I finally heard the bathroom door shut, I waited a few seconds and then rolled onto my side to face the door. I opened my eyes so I could see when X walked back in.
When the door opened, I couldn't hide my surprise. I'd assumed when he came out of the bathroom, he'd be in a towel, maybe a pair of shorts. Instead, he was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. In July. Granted, the air conditioning in the house made it cool enough inside, but it was far from sweatshirt weather. Going on the fact that he had the hood pulled up, I was willing to bet X's attire had little to do with whether or not he was cold.
“X.” I pushed myself up into a sitting position, my arm automatically coming across my breasts to hold up the blanket. I didn't feel like what was coming was something I wanted to face half-naked, especially not when he was completely dressed.
He didn't say anything as he crossed the room. He bent, picking up something from the floor I couldn't see. When he tossed it toward me, I saw that it was my clothes.
“Get dressed.”
I went cold, every inch of me turning to ice. His voice was hard, but not emotionless. I'd heard him shutting down before, giving in to depression. This wasn't what was happening here. He was upset...with me.
“Are you okay?” I hated that question, especially after a death, but I didn't know any other way to put it. I needed to figure out what was going on with him, with us.
“Just get dressed, Nori.” He refused to look at me. “You don't need to pretend you want to stick around now, okay?”
My stomach churned and I felt like I was going to be sick. I didn't make a move to pull on my clothes, but I did get out of bed. I took the blanket with me, holding it with one arm and my clothes with the other.
“What's going on, X?” I could hear my voice shaking slightly, but there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. At least my hands were too full to tremble.
“You got your pity fuck. I don't need you to stick around for some sort of awkward morning-after conversation.”
For a moment, I thought he meant that I'd been his pity fuck, but then my still sleep-muddled brain caught up with the truth. He thought I'd slept with him because I pitied him.
“That's not what–”
“Save it,” he snapped. “I'm not in the mood to deal with any more shit today.”
My heart twisted. I hated that he was doing this, that he was pushing me away, but I understood it.
Sort of.
“If you don't mind, I have a busy day ahead of me. Body to claim. Funeral to plan. All that.”
I almost went to him, reached out to try to touch him. Offer the comfort of a hand or a hug. But he didn't want that. It was clear he didn't want me anywhere near him. I started toward the door, still dragging his blanket with me. Before I went into the hallway, however, I paused.
“I'm here if you need me.” I barely spoke loud enough for him to hear me and then I went.
I left the blanket on the landing and practically ran up the stairs. I slammed the bedroom door behind me, not caring if X heard. The tears that I'd managed to keep back the short distance between his room and mine came out now, running down my cheeks. I bit my lips to keep from making a sound as I dropped my clothes into the hamper and went into the bathroom. Slamming the door made me seem pissed. Crying made me seem upset. I knew which one would make him feel more guilty and I didn't want that. If he despised the thought of my pity, I felt equally as strong about being on the receiving end of something prompted by guilt.
I turned on the shower, making it as hot as it would go. While I waited a couple minutes for it to heat up, I rubbed at my cheeks. I couldn't let myself get too worked up over this. It wasn't a complete surprise anyway. X had been guarded the entire time I'd known him. He'd proven time and again that he hated being vulnerable.
Last night, we'd both been that way, and I didn't like it any more than he did.