Chapter Twenty-Six

THEN

 

When Lyric awoke the next morning, he felt disorientated and fuzzy, as though he was waking up in someone else’s bed after a one-night stand. Shifting where he lay, it took a moment for his eyes to refocus and for the familiar surroundings to come to light.

Feeling something in the bed next to him, he turned to see Lenox lying there, sound asleep and snoring softly. He froze for a moment as his head caught up with what his eyes were seeing.

What is Lenox doing in my bed?

He began to shake as he was coming up blank.

Yanking himself out of bed, he could do nothing but stare at Lenox’s body, framed beautifully beneath the thin white sheet.

He stared as he desperately tried to remember. Thinking back. Trying to piece together what he remembered about the night before.

What happened and how did we end up in bed together? Did we have sex? Why can’t I remember?

He could recall snippets. They were by the window. It was late. After dinner. He had brought Lenox back to the apartment and they were admiring the view…

But then what?

The feeling.

He remembered that feeling of weightlessness. He remembered leaving the room and excusing himself for a minute. Dialling a number. Lenox’s number.

Then the smell of vanilla.

But that was it. That was the last thing he could remember.

He stared down at Lenox asleep in his bed. Naked. He had no memory of when or how they had gotten there, and the more he allowed his mind to try to recollect the details, the more forceful the panic became. It started off slow and unmoving, like a rock sitting in the pit of his stomach. He could sense an attack on its way.

Shaking his head, he grabbed a pair of briefs from the floor. He wrapped his dreads into a pile on his head before securing them with an elastic band from around his wrist, and set off for the kitchen.

He poured himself a glass of freezing cold water from a bottle in the fridge and drank it down in one, the cool liquid awakening his core and settling his impending panic attack. He counted down from one hundred in his head and waited for the panic to subside and the shakes to stop. Opening his eyes and gripping the countertop for support, he fished around in his head for answers.

His mind was blank. Completely void as to what had happened last night. His chest was still gripped with anxiety and he began to quiver with fear and uncertainty.

He needed to be busy. His hands could not be idle or the paranoia that was nestled in his belly would take hold and he’d fall apart.

Which was something he couldn’t let himself do in front of Lenox.

Not today. Not yet. Not after an episode.

How would he explain it? Lenox would think he was deranged and be out of his life faster than he had come into it. But as he moved around his open-plan kitchen, he told himself that this was not going to be the case. Not again. Not like the last time.

Breakfast. He would make them breakfast. They would eat and everything would be okay. Lenox was fine. Nothing bad had happened. He poured himself another glass of water from the fridge and drank it faster than before. He was starting to feel better. Calmer.

It wasn’t long before he heard shuffling coming from the bedroom. Lenox was up. He put a smile on his face and prepared a whole conversation in his head as he did sometimes when he was nervous.

Lenox appeared around the corner a moment later, looking ruffled and sleepy.

“¡Buenos días!” he called out, flashing Lenox a forced, toothy grin.

“Good morning.”

“I hope you’re hungry. French toast?”