Nothing Else Matters
by Mallory
I promised myself that if I could just get up, and walk over to you, and tell you how much I need you, and how much I want you, that nothing else matters.
He slips into her room at night sometimes, when he's had a particularly crap day or she's had a particularly crap day, and sometimes he does it just because he wants to, because he has constant aching need for her.
"The key's under this brick," she told him. "The door's usually open, but, if it's not…." She tapped the brick with her foot, and then kissed the corner of his mouth.
That was a while ago. That was the morning after he fell on the floor and after his mom told his dad to leave; that was the morning after he realized how much he wanted Haley; it was the morning after the first time their bodies pressed up against each other like that, separated by only two thin layers of cloth.
That was the morning that they sat on her porch steps, and she ran her fingers through his hair and then held his hand. That was the morning she kissed the inside of his wrist, and said, "Tell me why you're not ok."
He sneaks into her house a lot now. Almost every night. He kicks off his sneakers and drapes his jacket carelessly over her desk chair. He slides into her bed and sometimes he kisses her neck, and sometimes he kisses her cheek, but most of the time he puts his arms around her and goes to sleep.
He likes holding her. She relaxes against him, even when she's asleep and doesn't know he's there. It's as if when he wraps his arms around her, she feels safe and happy and secure or something and it's because he's there.
He feels it, too. Touching Haley is like a sigh of relief.
When he kisses Haley, the world doesn't explode. There aren't any fireworks.
When he kisses Haley, everything makes sense, everything falls into place, everything's peaceful, and he's ok.