Chapter 13: Not Asleep

"When what?" I said.

My voice came out thin, and I hated it.

Byron stood by the nightstand with his arms hanging at his sides.

He waited, rigid, braced for whatever sentence I was about to hand down.

"When you want it," he said. "When you want me to stop. When you want it to be me. Whatever you decide it is."

"You wrote that months ago."

"I wrote it every Sunday, and I never knew what I was asking."

I held the notebook against my knees.

My hands were shaking, and I let them.

"You made a rule," I said. "You never touch me."

"Yes."

"You broke it in the hall at four this morning."

"Yes."

"You had your hand under my shirt, Byron."

He closed his eyes. "I know where my hand was, Rox."

"Then why did you stop?"

"Because you were still pretending."

"I was not pretending at the end. You heard me. I said your name in my own voice."

"I heard you."

"And you tucked me in."

He did not answer that.

I climbed out of bed and stood in front of him, barefoot, in my sleep shorts and the old yard t-shirt, with the notebook between us.

He did not step back.

"I thought you pitied me," I said.

His head came up.

"Every night you came in with the water and the tablet. Every night you sat at the head of the bed and held my hand while they. While Denton."

"Roxy."

"I thought you did it because you felt guilty. I thought I was a job you hadn't finished, because of her."

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