I’d planned to make use of that cramped shower. Instead, I sink onto the bed, burying my face in Adrik’s pillow. It smells of him—a scent I’ve tried a hundred times to isolate, without ever being able to name it. It comes to me in waves like colors—dark like a deeply steeped tea, with notes of heady sweetness, burgundy wine or black cherry. Then that head-spinning chemical edge that compels you to inhale again and again, even if you know it might be bad for you, or even toxic—testosterone like pure gasoline. It’s that scent that makes me feel at home in this room. That chains me to this bed
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