Paloma Perez.
Five days after,
I shut Elijah’s door behind me the second I step in.
When I turn around, he’s shirtless. Soulless face set in that broody, stormy look he’s worn all week. He’s clearly still sour. It’s been five days since he slept over at my apartment amongst all the changes happening in front of us. It’s for both our safety and I swear, it’s getting to him.
I open my arms without saying anything and he walks into them like he’s been waiting for that exact invitation. Elijah’s arm squeezes my back as it goes around me. He buries his face in my neck and inhales, taking in the body butter I lathered on my skin this morning. God, I’ve missed this.
Of course, we’ve been seeing each other for the past five days, but it’s not the same. I miss our evening conversations, our
