I sigh, cherishing the comfort that he’s offering. I have said nothing to him about the grayness that seems to fill the space between us. Instead, I am clinging like a beggar to each and every subtle connection. Every brush of his fingers against mine. Every press of his hand upon my back as he guides me. Every soft glance, every gentle smile.
It’s not enough, though. We have always fit together, Jackson and I, like pieces in a puzzle. But now it feels as if someone has bent the pieces and the fit is awkward and slightly off, and that disconnect is making me crazy. I don’t think I can stand it much longer, and soon I’m going to have to confront him. To grab him hard and pull him back, and then demand to know why the hell he’s so far away from me—and then hope that he doesn’t run even further.