Storm Tucked Sleep

The penguins were huddling.

I knew this part. The narrator had already explained it twice, in that low, patient voice that made everything sound like a bedtime story even when it was about seals eating penguins. The emperor penguins stood in a tight circle, all of them pressing against each other, rotating slowly so nobody had to stand on the outside for too long. Smart. I liked the ones on the inside best, the ones you could barely see except for a beak or a flipper poking out from the mass of black and white bodies.

The rain tapped against the window behind the couch. Not hard yet. Just enough to make me pull the fleece blanket up to my chin and tuck my feet underneath me. The documentary was on the channel that played nature shows all day and all night, which meant I'd already seen this one. The penguins were going to make it through the storm. They always did. But I still wanted to watch them do it.

My pacifier was in my mouth, the blue one with the little whale on the shield. I'd been sucking on it for maybe an hour, long enough that the silicone had gone warm and soft. I didn't really think about it anymore. It was just there, the way my glasses were there, the way the blanket was there. Things that helped.

On the screen, a penguin chick stumbled across the ice and fell on its face. I laughed, a small sound around the pacifier, and then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

I knew those footsteps. Heavy, even, the kind that didn't rush. Cole always walked like he had somewhere to be but wasn't worried about getting there.

He appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, leaning one shoulder against the frame. He had his phone in his hand, screen dark, and his hair was still wet from the shower. Black hair, longer on top, pushed back from his forehead. He was wearing the gray sweatpants I liked and a plain white t-shirt, and he looked at me the way he always did when he was about to say something I wouldn't like.

"What time is it?" I asked, even though I knew.

"You know what time it is."

I looked at the clock on the cable box. 8:47. Bedtime was 9:00, and Cole had this thing about not letting me stay up past it, even on weekends, even when the rain was making the couch feel like the safest place in the world.

"Five more minutes," I said.

"Felix."

"Three more minutes."

He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the couch, near my feet. The cushion dipped under his weight and I slid a little toward him. He put his hand on my ankle, over the blanket, and his palm was warm.

"Did you take your meds?"

"Yes."

"Did you brush your teeth?"

I didn't answer right away. I'd been supposed to brush them after dinner, and I'd forgotten, and then the penguins came on, and now it was almost nine and my mouth still tasted like the mac and cheese we'd had.

"I'll brush them in the morning," I said.

"Nice try."

"I'll brush them for double the time. Four minutes. That's like brushing twice."

Cole shook his head, but he was smiling a little, the way he did when I said something ridiculous. He had a good smile. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle up, and it made me feel like I'd done something right even when I hadn't.

"Come on," he said. "Up."

The wind picked up outside and the rain got louder, drumming against the glass. A flash of lightning lit up the backyard for half a second, and I counted in my head the way Cole taught me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The thunder came, low and rumbling, far enough away that it wasn't scary yet. Just a warning.

"It's gonna storm," I said.

"I know."

"I don't like storms."

"I know that too."

I pulled the pacifier out of my mouth and held it in my hand, the whale side pressed against my palm. The penguins were still on the screen, huddled together, waiting out their own storm. The narrator said something about how they could survive temperatures of minus sixty degrees. I couldn't imagine being that cold. I couldn't imagine being that brave.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Cole looked at me. Not the quick look he gave when I asked for extra dessert or another episode of something. This was the other look, the one that meant he was actually thinking about it, weighing things in his head. I knew what he was weighing. He'd told me before that it was better for me to sleep in my own bed, that it helped me feel like a big kid, that I couldn't sleep with him every night just because I wanted to.

But the thunder was coming, and the lightning was going to get closer, and I could already feel that tight feeling in my chest, the one that showed up before storms and stayed until they were over.

"Please," I said.

Another flash. This time the thunder came faster. One. Two. Three. The rumble was louder, and the rain hit the window so hard it sounded like someone throwing handfuls of rice.

Cole sighed. He does that thing where he breathes out through his nose and his shoulders drop a little, and you know you've won even before he says anything.

"Just for tonight," he said.

I nodded fast, too fast, and dropped the pacifier back in my mouth before he could change his mind. He stood up and reached down, sliding one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, and then I was up, held against his chest like I weighed nothing. I didn't weigh nothing. I was nineteen years old and five foot four and I knew I wasn't light. But Cole was six foot two and strong in a way that didn't look like much until he was carrying me, and he never acted like it was hard.

I rested my head against his shoulder and let my eyes close. The penguins would be okay. They always were.

The hallway was dim, just the little nightlight plugged into the outlet near the bathroom, the one shaped like a moon. Cole's room was at the end, past mine, and I caught a glimpse of my own door as we passed. My bed was in there, with the dinosaur sheets and the stuffed dog I'd had since I was a kid, and the plastic sheet underneath that I pretended not to know about even though I'd helped Cole put it on.

I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to think about any of it.

Cole's room was warmer than the rest of the house. He kept the thermostat up because I was always cold, and he had this heavy comforter that was dark blue and soft, and the pillows smelled like him, like soap and something woodsy from the detergent he used on his clothes. He set me down on the edge of the bed and I watched him pull the covers back, and then he patted the mattress.

"In."

I crawled under the comforter and scooted over to the far side, the side against the wall, because that was my side. I'd slept in this bed enough times to know. Cole turned off the lamp on the nightstand and the room went dark except for the light coming in from the hallway, a thin strip under the door. He got in next to me and I felt the mattress shift and settle, and then his arm came around me and pulled me against his side.

His heartbeat was slow. Steady. I put my hand on his chest and felt it through his shirt.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You scared?"

"No."

He didn't say anything. Just tightened his arm a little, and I knew he knew I was lying, and I knew he was okay with it. That was the thing about Cole. He didn't make me say things I didn't want to say.

The rain kept going. The thunder rolled and faded and rolled again. But I was warm and I was held and the penguins had made it through their storm, so I figured I could make it through mine.

I fell asleep fast. I always did when I was with him.

I woke up because the bed was cold.

Not all of it. Just my side. Just the part under my hips, the part that was wet and getting colder by the second, and I knew before I opened my eyes what had happened. I knew from the way the sheet stuck to my legs and the way the smell was starting to rise, that sharp, familiar smell that meant I'd done it again.

I didn't move. I lay there in the dark with my eyes squeezed shut and my heart pounding, and I tried to pretend it hadn't happened. If I didn't move, if I didn't look, maybe it would go away. Maybe I could fall back asleep and wake up dry and nobody would ever know.

But Cole was already awake. I could tell from the way he was breathing, from the way his arm had gone still around me. He'd been asleep when I fell asleep. He wasn't asleep now.

"Felix."

I didn't answer.

"Bud, I need you to get up."

"I'm sorry," I said. My voice came out small and thick, and I hated it. I hated the way I sounded when this happened. Like a little kid. Like I was five years old instead of nineteen.

"It's okay."

It wasn't okay. It was never okay. But he said it anyway, every time, and he said it like he meant it, and I didn't understand how he could mean it when I was lying in his bed in wet underwear and the sheets were ruined and it was the middle of the night and he had to be up for work in four hours.

He turned on the lamp and I flinched at the light. He was already out of bed, moving around to my side, and I saw the wet patch on the sheet, dark against the blue, and I wanted to disappear. I wanted to sink into the mattress and never come back out.

"Up," he said, and his voice was gentle but it was also the voice he used when he wasn't going to argue about something. He held out his hand and I took it and he pulled me to my feet, and I stood there in my wet pajama pants with my head down, not looking at him, not looking at anything.

"Go get in the shower," he said. "Just rinse off. I'll get you new clothes."

I walked to the bathroom on autopilot. The hallway was dark and the nightlight was still on and the rain was still coming down, softer now, just a steady patter against the roof. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door and turned on the light, and then I looked at myself in the mirror.

My hair was a mess, dirty blonde strands sticking up in every direction. My glasses were crooked because I'd been sleeping on my face. There were dark circles under my eyes and a red mark on my cheek from the pillow, and I looked tired. I looked like a kid who'd been crying, even though I hadn't been. Not yet.

I peeled off my wet pajamas and stepped into the shower and let the warm water run over me. It felt good. It felt like washing away the evidence, even though I knew the evidence was still there in the other room, waiting for Cole to deal with it.

He didn't have to do this. That was the thought that kept coming back, the one I couldn't shake no matter how many times he told me it was fine. He was twenty-four years old. He had a job and friends and a life, and he'd chosen to spend it with me, changing sheets at two in the morning and washing out underwear and telling me it was okay when it wasn't.

I didn't know why. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve him.

When I got out of the shower, there were clean clothes on the counter. A pair of soft shorts and a t-shirt that used to be Cole's, too big for me, the sleeves hanging past my elbows. And a pair of training pants, the thick kind with the absorbent padding, the kind I wore at night because we both knew I needed them even though I hated admitting it.

I put them on. The shorts over them, the shirt over that. I dried my hair with the towel and put my glasses back on and looked at myself in the mirror again.

Better. Not good. But better.

Cole was in the hallway when I opened the door. He'd changed the sheets already, or maybe he'd just stripped the bed and put new ones on, and he was standing there with his arms crossed, waiting for me.

"You okay?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"Come on."

He led me back to the bedroom. The bed looked fresh, the comforter smoothed out, the pillows fluffed. No sign of what had happened. He'd even opened the window a crack, letting in the cool night air, and the smell of rain was stronger now, clean and sharp.

He got in first and held up the covers, and I climbed in next to him and let him pull me close. His arm went around me again, and I put my head on his chest, and I could hear his heartbeat, still slow, still steady.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"I know."

"I hate this."

"I know that too."

"I wish I could stop."

He didn't say anything for a minute. Just held me. The rain kept falling and the thunder was gone, moved off to somewhere else, and the room was quiet except for our breathing.

"You can't help it," he said finally. "We've talked about this. It's not something you're doing on purpose."

"I know."

"So stop apologizing."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that it didn't matter whether it was on purpose, that it was still gross and embarrassing and a burden, that he shouldn't have to deal with it. But I was tired. I was so tired. And his hand was rubbing slow circles on my back, and my eyes were already getting heavy.

"I love you," I said. It came out muffled against his shirt.

"I love you too."

I fell asleep again. This time I didn't dream.

Morning came too fast.

I knew it was morning because the light was different. Gray and soft, coming through the window, filtered by the rain that was still falling. The storm had passed but the sky was still crying, and I felt like I understood.

Cole was already awake. I could tell from the way he was lying, still and tense, like he'd been awake for a while and was waiting for me to wake up too. His arm was still around me but it felt different. Heavier.

"Time is it?" I mumbled.

"Almost eight."

I groaned and pressed my face into his chest.

"I know," he said. "But you need to eat breakfast."

"Don't wanna."

"Felix."

"I don't wanna."

He sighed and sat up, and I had to sit up too because I was basically attached to him. The room spun a little and I blinked, trying to wake up, trying to figure out why my body felt so heavy and wrong.

Then I remembered. The bed. The wet sheets. The shower at two in the morning. The way I'd woken up twice, which meant I'd gotten maybe four hours of sleep, maybe less.

My eyes were burning. My head hurt. And I could feel that tight, achy feeling in my throat that meant I was probably going to cry at some point today whether I wanted to or not.

"Come on," Cole said. "Breakfast."

He stood up and pulled me to my feet and I followed him to the kitchen. The house was quiet and dim, all the lights off except the one over the stove, and the rain tapped against the windows like it was trying to get in. I sat down at the table and Cole poured me a glass of orange juice and put a bowl of cereal in front of me.

I looked at the cereal. Little O's, the kind that got soggy fast if you didn't eat them quick enough. I picked up my spoon and stirred them around and watched the milk turn slightly brown.

"Eat," Cole said. He was standing at the counter with his coffee, watching me.

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat something."

"I ate dinner."

"That was twelve hours ago."

I stirred the cereal again. One of the O's broke apart and floated to the surface, and I watched it bob there like a tiny life raft.

"I'm tired," I said.

"I know."

"My eyes hurt."

"I know."

"I don't want to eat."

Cole set down his coffee and came over to the table. He sat down across from me and folded his arms on the tabletop and looked at me. Not angry. Not frustrated. Just looking.

"Three bites," he said. "Then you can be done."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to push the bowl away and put my head down on the table and go back to sleep. But Cole was looking at me with that patient expression, the one that said he wasn't going to give up, and I knew from experience that fighting him on this would just take longer.

I took a bite. The cereal was already getting soft, and the milk was cold against my teeth. I swallowed and took another bite and then another, and then I'd eaten more than three bites, and Cole nodded and went back to his coffee.

I made it about halfway through the bowl before I stopped. My stomach felt weird, tight and unsettled, and the cereal wasn't sitting right. I pushed the bowl away and Cole didn't say anything, just took it and dumped the rest in the sink.

"Nap time," he said.

"I just woke up."

"You woke up four hours ago and then you were up for an hour in the middle of the night. You need more sleep."

"I'm fine."

"You're crying."

I touched my face. My cheeks were wet. I hadn't even noticed.

"I'm not crying," I said, even though I clearly was.

Cole came over and crouched down next to my chair so he was at my level. He reached up and wiped my face with his thumb, gentle, the way you'd wipe a kid's face after they fell down.

"You're exhausted," he said. "And you're grumpy because you're exhausted. And that's okay. But you need to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep. I want to stay up."

"You can stay up after your nap."

"That's not the same."

"I know."

I felt the tears coming faster now, hot and stupid, and I couldn't stop them. My throat was tight and my chest was tight and everything felt wrong. I was nineteen years old and I was crying at the kitchen table because I was tired and I didn't want to take a nap, and I knew how it looked. I knew how it sounded. But I couldn't help it.

Cole stood up and pulled me out of the chair and into a hug. I pressed my face into his shirt and cried, big, gulping sobs that made my whole body shake. He held me and didn't say anything, just rubbed my back and let me cry.

"I hate this," I said, muffled against his chest.

"I know."

"I hate being like this."

"I know."

"I wish I was normal."

He pulled back and looked at me. His hands were on my shoulders and his eyes were serious, the kind of serious that meant he was about to say something important.

"Listen to me," he said. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're not broken. You're not a burden. You're just you, and I love you, and I'm not going anywhere."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so badly. But there was a voice in my head that said he was just being nice, that he was just saying what he thought I needed to hear, that eventually he'd get tired of this and leave.

I didn't say any of that. I just nodded and let him lead me back to the bedroom.

My room this time. Not his. He pulled back the covers on my bed and I saw the plastic sheet underneath, the one that crinkled when you moved, and I felt my face get hot.

"I don't need that," I said.

"You might."

"I won't."

"Felix."

"I won't, I promise."

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded and pulled the plastic sheet off, folding it and setting it aside. He pulled the regular sheet back over the mattress and smoothed it down.

"Okay," he said. "But if you have an accident, you have to tell me."

"I won't have an accident."

"Okay."

He helped me into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. He put my pacifier in my hand and I put it in my mouth without thinking, and he turned on the little fan in the corner because I liked the noise.

"I'll be in the living room," he said. "Come get me if you need anything."

I nodded. My eyes were already closing.

He turned off the light and closed the door, and I lay there in the dim gray morning with the rain falling outside, and I thought about the penguins. How they huddled together in the storm. How they took turns on the outside so nobody had to be cold for too long.

I wondered who took turns for me. I wondered if Cole ever got tired of being on the outside.

I fell asleep before I could answer.

The dream was about water.

I was standing in the ocean and the water was rising, slow at first and then faster, and I couldn't move. My feet were stuck in the sand and the waves were coming up past my knees and my waist and my chest, and I knew I was going to drown but I couldn't do anything about it.

Then someone was shaking my shoulder.

"Felix. Felix, wake up."

I opened my eyes. Cole was standing over me, and his face was worried, and I could feel it before I even understood what was happening. The wetness. The cold. The way my shorts were sticking to my legs.

I'd done it again.

"I'm sorry," I said. The words came out automatic, before I was even fully awake. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No it's not."

"It's okay." He was already pulling back the covers, already reaching for me. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

I let him help me out of bed. I stood there in my wet clothes and I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at the bed. I couldn't look at anything.

"I told you I wouldn't," I said.

"I know."

"I promised."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. He just took my hand and led me to the bathroom, and I stood in the shower for the second time in twelve hours and let the water wash over me, and I cried where he couldn't see.

When I came out, there were clean clothes waiting. Another pair of training pants. Another pair of shorts. I put them on and went back to my room and Cole had already stripped the bed and was putting new sheets on. He'd put the plastic sheet back. I didn't say anything about it.

"You can sleep in my bed tonight," he said. "If you want."

I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak.

He finished making the bed and sat down on the edge and patted the mattress next to him. I sat down and he put his arm around me and I leaned into him.

"It's not your fault," he said.

I didn't answer.

"Felix. Look at me."

I looked at him. His eyes were dark and serious and kind, and I didn't understand how he could still look at me like that after everything.

"It's not your fault," he said again. "You can't control it. It's just something your body does. It doesn't mean anything about you. It doesn't mean you're bad or gross or any of the things you're thinking right now."

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

"I know you. I know you're beating yourself up. I know you're thinking I'm going to get tired of this and leave."

I looked away.

"I'm not going to leave," he said. "I'm not going to get tired of this. This is part of you, and I love you, all of you. Even the parts you don't like."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so much.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

He kissed the top of my head and stood up and pulled me to my feet. We went back to the living room and he put on another nature documentary, this one about bears, and I curled up on the couch with my blanket and my pacifier and watched the bears fish in a river.

The rain kept falling. The day kept going. And I stayed there on the couch with Cole next to me, and I tried to believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

The bears caught fish and ate them and didn't apologize for anything. They just were. They just existed.

I wished I could be like that.

But I wasn't. I was me, and I was tired, and I was wet, and I was loved.

And for now, that was enough.

The documentary ended and another one started. This one was about wolves. Cole got up to make lunch and I stayed on the couch, watching the wolves run through the snow, and I thought about what it would be like to be that free. To run and not worry about anything. To not have a body that betrayed you.

But the wolves had their own problems. The narrator said so. They had to hunt and fight and protect their packs, and sometimes they got hurt, and sometimes they died.

Everybody had something. Maybe that was just how it worked.

Cole came back with sandwiches and we ate on the couch and watched the wolves together. He didn't say anything about the morning. He didn't say anything about the bed or the sheets or the training pants. He just sat there and ate his sandwich and occasionally reached over to ruffle my hair.

I leaned into him and let myself be small. Let myself be held. Let myself be taken care of.

It wasn't always easy. But it was something.

And something was better than nothing.

The rain stopped around two in the afternoon. The clouds stayed, gray and heavy, but the water quit falling and the world got quiet. I looked out the window and saw the backyard, the grass wet and dark, the trees dripping. Everything looked clean. Washed.

I felt like that sometimes. Like I'd been washed and hung out to dry, and I was still damp but I was getting there.

Cole noticed me looking and came over to stand behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders and I leaned back against him.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Some."

"Good."

"I'm still tired."

"I know. You can nap again later if you want."

I nodded. I was starting to think I might actually want that. The couch was warm and Cole was warm and the day was long and slow, and maybe a nap wouldn't be the worst thing.

"Cole?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He didn't ask what for. He knew. He always knew.

"Anytime," he said.

And I believed him.

The afternoon passed in a blur of documentaries and dozing and Cole's hand in my hair. I didn't think about the bed or the sheets or the wet underwear. I didn't think about the way I'd cried at breakfast or the way I'd promised not to have an accident and then had one anyway.

I just existed. Like the bears. Like the wolves. Like the penguins huddled together in their storm.

Maybe that was enough. Maybe just existing was enough.

I fell asleep on the couch with my head in Cole's lap, and I dreamed about nothing at all, and when I woke up it was dark outside and the rain had started again, soft and steady, and Cole was still there.

He was always there.

I didn't know why. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve it. But he was there, and I was there, and we were together, and that was something.

That was everything.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes and Cole handed me my glasses and I put them on and looked at him. He was watching me with that patient expression, the one that said he'd been watching me sleep and didn't mind.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. Dinner's almost ready."

I followed him to the kitchen and sat at the table and watched him cook. Pasta, this time. With red sauce and cheese on top. My favorite.

He put a bowl in front of me and I ate it all, every bite, and he didn't have to tell me to. I was hungry. Actually hungry. For the first time all day.

"Good job," he said.

I smiled. A real smile. The first one all day.

"Thanks," I said.

"For what?"

"For everything."

He smiled back. The kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle. The kind that made me feel like I'd done something right.

"Anytime," he said again.

And I knew he meant it.

After dinner we watched one more documentary, something about the ocean, and I thought about the dream I'd had. The water rising. The feeling of drowning. But I wasn't drowning. I was here, on the couch, with Cole, and the water was just on the screen.

I was safe. I was warm. I was loved.

Tomorrow would be another day. There would be another bedtime and another night and maybe another accident. There would be more tears and more apologies and more of Cole telling me it was okay.

But tonight, right now, I was okay.

I put my pacifier in my mouth and leaned against Cole and watched the fish swim across the screen. The narrator talked about the deep sea, about creatures that lived in the dark, about things we'd never seen and never would.

I thought about how big the world was. How many things there were that I didn't know. How many things I'd never understand.

But I understood this. I understood Cole's arm around me and the warmth of the blanket and the sound of the rain on the roof. I understood that I was here and I was alive and I was loved.

That was enough. That was more than enough.

That was everything.

The documentary ended and Cole turned off the TV and looked at me.

"Bedtime," he said.

I nodded. I was tired. Not the bad kind of tired, the kind that made me cry. Just the regular kind. The kind that made my eyes heavy and my body slow.

"Can I sleep with you?" I asked.

He smiled.

"You don't even have to ask," he said.

He picked me up and carried me to his room and tucked me under the comforter and got in next to me. I put my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat and felt the rain falling outside and the warmth of his body next to mine.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you too."

I closed my eyes.

The penguins were okay. The bears were okay. The wolves were okay.

And so was I.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face, and I didn't dream about water, and when I woke up in the morning, I was dry.

It was a good day. A really good day.

And I held onto it as long as I could.