Rylee
My purple Snuggie is wrapped around me as I watch a movie on the couch, the house a little too quiet except for the pitter-patter of light rain coming from outside. I normally like the solitude, but recently it’s been lonely.
With Chase in his own place now, it’s almost too quiet during the days when Garrick is out doing whatever his band needs him to. He hasn’t spoken about his conversation with Zayne, and I’m afraid to press on how things are going because he comes home tense and only willing to talk about my day. But considering my days are full of routine nothingness—gardening, cooking, checking in with Moffie and my parents, and searching the internet for potential writing gigs that won’t look like a conflict of interest to the public eye—there’s never much to report on that’s different from the day before.
November came and went with cold snaps that left my joints sore and plants sad, and Thanksgiving was spent with Garrick, Chase, and their mother because my parents had their very first cruise planned that they’ve been talking about since forever. It’s the first holiday we didn’t spent together, but the Matthews clan put me to work in the kitchen where Elaine taught me new recipes and the boys cleaned up after us.
With the new year approaching fast, Garrick has been nonstop with helping Chase get settled into his house, the band prepare for their album drop in the spring, all while fending what remains of the tabloids against me. Things have quieted down considerably, and from what Moffie says, the things still lingering in the media are barely anything worth being upset over. Although we have different interpretations, so I don’t know if I fully believe her.
Once in a while Mrs. Matthews will pop in, and it’s always when I’m alone. I used to think she was keeping an eye on me to make sure I wasn’t doing something I shouldn’t when her sons were away, but quickly learned she wanted to make sure I was okay. One time she came over with a freshly made cobbler that she said she’d teach me how to make, and another time she’d brought over crochet materials after I’d mentioned wanting to learn in past conversations.
She told me Garrick knows how to knit, crochet, and sew if I ever needed help, and I banked that information to smile over when I have days like today when I’m feeling off.
Laying on the couch aimlessly listening to some old black and white classic movie, I turn onto my back and stare up at the high ceilings. They’re plain with little personality, but everything else in the house makes up for it—the pops of purple and blue and black and yellow throughout the huge estate, the random photographs of Garrick with his friends and family, the mixture of fake and real plants scattered in the house that Yasmin showed me in case the real ones needed water and she wasn’t around. He even has a few awards on his shelves and walls that I’ve been caught staring at one too many times. But when else am I going to be that close to a Grammy or Billboard Music Award?
When Garrick found me staring at a few one time, he’d told me that he liked the reminder of all the hard work he’d put in that’s led him right where we are.
He let me look.
Linger.
Snoop.
“What’s mine is yours,” he’s told me countless times. It doesn’t make me feel any better about accepting the money for my medicine or being put on his insurance. The money I got from my last article ran out a few days ago when I paid for groceries and got Chase a housewarming gift. The youngest Matthews blushed when I handed it to him. All I could afford was a small care package that had a box of Captain Crunch, an Elsa coffee mug, and a set of hand towels that say I like it nerdy.
Exchanging presents and laughs that day made me feel like part of their family for real, and when I decided to leave Chase’s house to give them time together just the three of them, nobody had fought me on it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed that Garrick didn’t even try convincing me to stay with the allure of junk food or movies, but I don’t blame him.
We still haven’t had sex, and only fooled around a handful of times since he admitted he wanted to make this relationship work. And while I enjoyed every earth shattering, limb tingling orgasm he’s given me by fingers and tongue, I haven’t given him any indication that I want to do more. On a spontaneous whim one night when we were watching late night infomercials when neither of us could sleep, I’d given him a fumbled hand job that was mediocre at best even if hot spurts of cum shot from him after he’d guided my hand to squeeze him harder and pump him faster. Beyond the few times that followed, we haven’t done more even though I know where he goes and what he does in the bathroom the mornings he wakes up in bed with me and I don’t make a move to relieve him like part of me always wants to.
At some point during my movie marathon, I fall asleep cuddled into the warm fleece material. It isn’t until I feel the couch dip that my lids flutter open, and I smell the faintest scent of wild cherry wafting around me.
“Are you feeling all right?” Garrick.
I offer him a tired nod. “Sleepy.” He helps me untangle myself from the Snuggie to reposition and face him. “How’d recording go?”
The smile he offers is full of contentment and relief. “We’re officially done. Good thing, too. My mates were about to kill me. But I think everyone will be happy with it.”
I know Moffie will. “I’m glad to hear.”
He’s about to say something when
