Until You (Until #1)

by Briar Prescott

“Moths. Creepy little fuckers.” “They’re actually very important as links in the food chain and as pollinators. Not to mention, they’re beautiful, and completely harmless,” Blake says like some kind of moth-loving freak. I send him a dirty look. “What’s with the moth propaganda? No. They’re erratic, hairy, winged psychopaths whose sole mission in life is to fly into your face and traumatize you for years to come.”

“Cool. You’re not getting off that easily. An in-person apology might get you off the hook, though. Dinner in thirty. We’re going to La Casa. You’re paying.” “Pass,” I say. “You don’t get a pass. I’m pregnant.” “That’s not my fault. Pass.” “And yet, if you want little Mercury Starcruiser to know his uncle, you’ll get your ass to that restaurant, or I swear to God, you’re dead to me.” I groan. “Go annoy your wife. Why even get married if you still need me to do stuff with you? Be like a normal newlywed and forget you have friends. Grow apart from me, woman!”

“What if I’m not just a quick fuck? What if I’m the kind of fuck that does things other fucks won’t do?”

“I let people in on a regular basis.” “No, you don’t,” she argues. “I absolutely do. I just expect them to leave once they pull out.”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to hand over the keys to all the places I’ve locked up inside me.

“Can I help?” Blake asks. “I thought you’d never ask and was honestly getting slightly concerned you were impolite underneath this golden boy exterior.”

“What’s next on the agenda?” Blake asks. I shrug. “Strip poker?” “I suck at poker. I’ll be naked in under a minute.” “I’ll get the deck,” I say and start to get up.

“I thought you wanted me to stare. Otherwise, what’s the point of going without a shirt?” He looks down at himself as if he hadn’t even realized he’s not wearing one. “I don’t like it when my shirt sticks to damp skin.” “And I approve. One hundred percent. If you have any objections to pants and damp skin, feel free to rectify that, too.”

“Dinner? I’d kill for a taco.” “I hear you can get them for money these days, so you don’t have to resort to crime.”

He glances over his shoulder and sends me one more smile before he disappears inside, leaving me staring at his front door with the kind of stupid smile that has no business being on my face. But I leave it be.

I’ve built a wall around me. Sturdy layers of bricks, one after another, year after year. It’s safe here, hiding from the world and the people in it. Nobody can hurt you if you won’t let them close enough.

We’re honest-to-God talking about utilities now. Riveting.

I’m starting to think my love language does not come in the form of beautiful words and candlelit dinners but well-placed sarcastic remarks and exasperation.

I felt this in my bones!

My heart gives a traitorous thump. I’d rip it out and throw it at him if I could.

He shrugs. “You said it was so bad you couldn’t get through it. I got curious.” I lean my shoulder against the wall next to my door. “And?” “I feel like I need an exorcism. Know any priests?” My lips twitch involuntarily. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s not the same without you.”

He’s breaking me, and I’m breaking him. He’s hurting me, and I’m hurting him.

I can live without you. I just choose not to. And I’m terrified as fuck, still, by the way. But… I also love you more than I’m afraid.”