“Babe, what’s wrong?” I asked, dropping my gym bag and crossing the room in a few steps.

You gave me a weak smile in greeting as you shook your head and placed your phone in the book as an unorthodox book mark, something that constantly led to it being misplaced. “It’s nothing. This book is just really emotional,” you explained, fanning your face. “I’m fine.”

You’ve never been very emotional. At that point we’d been together for seven months and I had only seen you cry maybe a handful of times. This was the second due to a book. Even after those first initial days following your dad passing, I never saw you cry.

“Want to take a breather? Go get something to eat?”

You nodded, wiping your cheek again with your tissue as another tear escaped.

“Let me just take a shower, okay?” I asked, gently running my thumb across your cheekbone.

“Can I come with you?” Your eyes were wide, and brimmed with tears.

I felt like silly putty. You could have asked for the moon and I would have worked to find a way. I’d have done anything for you. Anything, but let you go. Why did you need space, Ace? What in the hell got you so damn freaked out?

“I need you right now. I need to be close to you.” Your voice came out sounding strained as another stray tear coursed down your cheek.

I leaned over and softly kissed you to see if I was misinterpreting your intentions. Your arms wrapped around my neck, and you pulled yourself into my lap. Normally, you refused to touch me until after I showered, naming off a list of bacterial germs prevalent in gyms.

Standing up, I carried you into the bathroom where I set you on the counter. Your face was stoic as I turned the water on to get hot and started to undress, kicking off my shoes and peeling off my socks and shorts. I stood in front of you, waiting for some sort of sign to confirm you wanted to continue. Your eyes welled with tears again, and it shocked me how I felt physical pain at the sight.

“Max, I love you. I don’t think I could ever love someone as fully and completely as I love you. I’m in love with you, and I’m in love with being in love with you, and I just need you to know how much I love you.” I’m completely serious, you said ‘I love you’ that many times in those short sentences.

We used the term ‘I love you’ pretty openly and often. Perhaps it was because it was the first time that either of us had directed it toward anyone outside of our families. But right then, the words felt like so much more, like an oath.

“I love you, Ace. I love you so, so much.”

You wrapped your arms around my bare shoulders, pulling me closer.

“Thank you,” you whispered, running a hand up the back of my head and the other along my jaw, before you kissed me.

“Max, I need you.”

Those words set a need in me that spread like a wildfire. I grabbed the hem of your shirt and quickly pulled it over your head, then made quick work of unhooking your bra and slipping it off your shoulders before removing your shorts and underwear. With one move, I yanked you forward on the counter, spreading your legs for me to step between. Your ankles hooked behind my back, urging me forward, and I felt you all around me as you released a frustrated moan.

My hands slid from your hips, curling under your thighs. The look of sadness had vanished, replaced with love and the excited gleam that built whenever we made love. There was a need in your eyes that I could feel in my bones. It was more than a physical need, it was an emotional need that I could fully understand. I still do.

I leaned you against the rounded edge of the vanity then slowly buried myself in you, trying not to just focus solely on the pleasure it provided, but also on the sound of your breaths as they increased, and the slight sting of your fingers, digging into my shoulders. I watched your neck muscles loosen, making your head fall back in satisfaction. Then your eyes slowly opened, and all I saw, was love.

I take a few deep breaths as my eyes sweep the darkness. My breaths are shallow and my chest prickles with sweat. Looking beside me, I see nothing but pillows and blankets before my head falls back against them and I let out a long breath. God, I’ve missed that look lately, and I hate myself for wondering if some other guy has seen it.

The following day, Erin comes over. I’m desperate to erase the images of her that infected my dreams last night. Wes meanders into the kitchen and retrieves a bowl for cereal, looking groggy and disheveled when she shows up, announcing an airy hello as she heads to the fridge with a plastic bag over her wrist.

Wes’s head jerks to follow her. His eyebrows are furrowed as his neck snaps back to me. His eyes are filled with accusation, which leaves me feeling defensive.

“What the hell?” he mouths.

“I hope you don’t mind. I brought over some cabbage soup. It’s this new diet I’m doing,” Erin explains, wadding up the bag as she walks to the trash.

Wes’s head turns to her again and then back to me. “Cabbage soup?” he hisses.

I dismiss his look of disgust and watch her saunter toward me in a mini skirt and shoes that look like a balancing act. Her shirt scoops so low on her chest that little is left to my imagination.

She sidles up next to where I’m leaning against the kitchen island and smiles at me. The urge to return it is absent because her fake nails scratch at my chest. I instantly catch her fingers in mine to stop her. I don’t know if she means anything by the simple act, but the sensation sends a cruel reminder of her, recalling as she used to unknowingly scratch lightly at my stomach when she was turned on.

“You want to go shopping? I think I earned myself a new purse Saturday night.” Erin’s smile turns coy and she winks at me, making my fingers loosen around hers. Recounting her mouth being on me makes me question if I’m going about things the right way. The problem is, I can’t remember a goddamn thing about how this shit used to feel before her. Wes’s spoon clanks against the bowl, breaking me from scrutinizing what in the hell I’m doing.

“Hey, dude, did you pass out on the couch last night?” Jameson walks into the kitchen in a pair of mesh shorts, wiping his eyes as he stretches his neck.

“Yeah, but I’m going to get out of here,” Wes replies.

Jameson’s hand falls at Wes’s annoyed tone and his eyes sweep the kitchen and stop when they land on Erin. He’s already met her a handful of times, but the two have had little in the way of a conversation. Hell, I’ve had little in the way of a conversation with Erin.

“Are you coming to class today?” Wes loads his bowl in the dishwasher and though it’s obvious his question is directed toward me, he doesn’t look for my response.

“I don’t know.” I can’t fucking pay attention in class. When it’s too quiet, or too calm my mind tends to gravitate to places I can’t afford for it to go. Lectures seem to be one of the worst offenders of my loud thoughts. I’m focused on this track of forgetting. Forgetting what I felt, thought, experienced, everything. I’m working at forgetting her completely.

“Please don’t go. I want to hang out,” Erin whines, pressing further against me, making me swallow my painful thoughts.

“I don’t think your patients will be enthralled to learn you skipped class to go on shopping expeditions,” Wes counters, slamming the dishwasher closed.

“You want to be a doctor?” Erin gapes at me. Her steely eyes are wide and filled with excitement.

The first time I told her I was going to school to be a surgeon, I wasn’t sure what to expect. A lot of people looked at me and laughed, as though I’d only ever amount to some punk-ass kid. Girls often had matching expressions to Erin’s, looking giddy about the prospective idea, but she had looked at me and furrowed her brow, asking why.