Standing from my bed, I welcomed the coldness of the wooden floor as I kept my steps light while my bare feet moved through the house. I knew every hallway in our place like the back of my hand, but now, those halls seemed to stretch too longand too empty in front of me, my chest tightening as if I’d been running for hours but never got anywhere.
Her door wasn’t locked when I reached her, but it should’ve been. I’d punish her for that later. For now, I just needed to see her. I pushed it open without it making a sound, since just last week she’d asked me to put more oil on the hinges.
The room smelled like her the moment I stepped inside, so fuckin’ intoxicating I couldn’t help but inhale and hold it in for a few seconds. Moonlight bled through the curtains and cast a warm glow over her bed, her body curled into itself like the world outside was trying to rip her apart.
I didn’t second-guess my actions as I slid onto the empty side of her bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. Each part of my body was still wired, every muscle tight. But here, next to her, the storm raging inside of me started to settle.
But then she stirred, and her breath hitched, her body jolting before she even opened her eyes.
“Shh,” I murmured, my hand reaching beneath the sheets to thread my fingers through hers. “It’s just me.”
She stilled, her pulse thumping against my palm in fast and erratic spurts.
“Cruz?” she whispered, her voice smoky, but still soft and beautiful.
I exhaled slowly, letting my thumb brush her palm in circles. “Yeah, baby. It’s me.”
The tension in her body melted, and I couldn’t deny that just her relaxing next to me instantly made me feel better. But she didn’t say anything. Just watched me in the moonlight, like she was tryin’ to read me and see inside of the cracks that I didn’t let other people poke at.
“Are you okay?” I asked her. “I know you’re scared about your feelings for me … for the guys. And today was a crash coursein some of the intense and unexpected bullshit that comes with what we do.”
I gently grazed the bottom of her chin. “And if you are, you should be scared. Shit got real tonight. But you wanna know what kept me from losing my fuckin’ mind out there?”
She didn’t answer, just kept staring at me, her eyes tuggin’ at every emotion I had.
“You,” I admitted. “Every time I got close to the edge, you were what pulled me back. When I fight, I see red. I feel nothing but the need to destroy. But you … You kept me from losing myself. And while I enjoy a good fight, tonight I needed to not lose myself.”
She swallowed, her fingers tightening around mine.
“It didn’t used to be like this,” I confessed. “The way your voice cuts through the noise. The way your touch doesn’t only set my nerves on fire but calms them. The way you look at me, like I’m not just violence wrapped in flesh. Like I’m still human even though I love to swim in danger.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
I exhaled hard, closing my eyes for a beat before opening them again. “I never told you this,” I murmured, “and only the guys know, but a couple years ago, I found out that I’m on the spectrum.”
She blinked rapidly, her voice barely above a whisper when she asked, “Are you okay?” not in disbelief, just surprise.
I smirked, but there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, I’m workin’ on it daily. It surprised the shit outta me, too. Most of the time I still feel like myself, but other times, it just takes a while to understand how I fit in certain social situations.”
Her soft, sultry eyes studied mine. “I know that gets hard since you’ve always enjoyed talking to people.”
I nodded. “It does. But when I thought about the way I’ve always been, and the way my brain processes shit, it made sense.How I fixate on certain things and the way I need structure in threes. Three best friends. At least three relatives who I needed to keep in constant contact with. Three club locations.”
“Is that why you have this tattoo?” she asked, her delicate fingers grazing the tat that I had on one side of my neck of a snake shaped like three number threes.
“It is. Not only is the number itself powerful in symbolism and persuasion, but it’s a reminder that I have a purpose.” I placed my hand over hers. “In numerology, the number three symbolizes spiritual growth and represents a higher level of consciousness that uplifts and inspires others. It’s what I think my jokes do. Evoke emotion good or bad.”
She nodded in understanding. “And people often reference a list in the form of three things.”
“Because everything feels more complete with three.”
“I think I read once that it’s good luck, too,” she said.
“Yeah, it is. I got the tattoo and was living my life in threes before I ever got my diagnosis. There are a lot of things that I’m still figuring out,” I divulged, not taking for granted how intently she was listening. “Like how I’ve always been obsessed with loud sounds, lights, and crowds because I’m learning that there are so many different kinds of autism. Some have a higher sensitively to sounds, light, and crowds. But I?—”
“But you have a lower sensitively to those things,” she finished. “Don’t forget, I know you. I think you always wanted to open the clubs because you also like controlling the aspects of it that intrigue you. How much bass is decided for the music you play. There are certain kinds of dim and mood lighting that you enjoy, but you’ve never liked fireworks or lasers. And with the crowds in your clubs, you always keep it at a certain amount of people. Packed, but not overwhelming so.”
“Hmm, I didn’t think about it like that,” I told her, discovering another part of myself that I didn’t know. “Andwhen my clubs are packed, I’m usually scarce for as long as I can be. Or at least, until I don’t feel overwhelmed by the fact that everyone expects to see always-got-a-joke Cruz. But sometimes, I don’t feel like laughing. So I guess with all of this, it’s why I’ve always felt different, but didn’t know why.”
