"If one's different, one's bound to be lonely."
- Aldous Huxley

Waking up next to Zayna is definitely something I could get used to.

We're both sprawled out on the pull-out couch, our limbs tangled together. The remnants of last night's pillow fort surround us, although we knocked most of it over while we had the hastiest, quietest sex of our lives.

Hey, Shamus told us he didn't want to hear us doing it, not that we weren't allowed to.

I run my fingers across Zayna's cheek. She opens her eyes and gazes up at me, an angelic smile tugging at her lips.

"Good morning," she whispers.

"Morning, beautiful," I reply, leaning in to kiss her.

"Stop," she says quickly.

Immediately, I pull back. "You okay?"

She giggles. "Morning breath. Let me go brush my teeth real quick."

Wearing nothing but my t-shirt, Zayna rushes to the bathroom. Not even ten seconds after she shuts the door, Shamus emerges from his bedroom, dressed in a polo shirt and a pair of khakis for work.

"Morning, Bowie." He stares at me, his hazel eyes fixed on my bare chest. "Sleep okay?"

"Like a baby," I reply. "Thank you, by the way, for letting me stay over."

He grabs two pieces of bread and pops them into the toaster. "Listen, I'm not thrilled with the idea of you and my little sister having sleepovers, but you're both adults. I know you're crazy about her, so I know you'll keep her safe."

"Of course I will," I promise him, and I mean it. No matter what, I will always protect Zayna.

He stands on his tiptoes to reach a jar of peanut butter on top of the fridge. "Also, in regards to your family drama, I don't know the details. Frankly, I don't want the details."

I nod my head, watching as he takes a knife out of the drawer—a big, shiny steak knife—and uses it to spread the tan paste onto his toast.

"Look," he goes on, "I'm not sure what my sister has shared with you about our childhood, but it wasn't full of home-cooked meals and bedtime stories. We dealt with some shit. If you need help, we'll help you." He stares at me again, holding the knife just a smidge higher than he needs to. "Stay here as long as you'd like, but if you're still here tomorrow morning, I expect you to be wearing a shirt."

"Consider it done," I respond, fighting the urge to salute.

The bathroom door opens, revealing a half-naked Zayna. Her cheeks are maroon as she pulls my shirt down as far as it will go and scurries back under the covers.

"Good morning, little sis," Shamus greets her with an amused smirk.

"Hi," she mumbles, looking anywhere but at him.

Chuckling, he puts his breakfast on a paper plate, locates his car keys, and then winks at his sister before leaving for work.

"How embarrassing," Zayna groans. "Like, I'm not even wearing underwear!"

"Good," I say in a husky undertone.

"Oh, yeah?" she purrs, climbing into my lap. Straddling my thighs, she takes off my t-shirt and exposes her bare breasts.

Bowie Jr. rapidly comes to life, creating a noticeable tent in my boxer shorts.

Yeah, this is definitely something I could get used to.

<>*<>*<>*<>*<>

It's after seven o'clock when I finally clock out and say goodnight to Poppy. I rush upstairs and find Zayna in front of the stove. The aroma of garlic fills the air, making me salivate.

"You're cooking." I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck. In the sink, I spot a colander full of ravioli. On the stove, Zayna is whisking a pot of heavenly-smelling alfredo sauce. "Baby, you didn't have to do all this."

"Don't get too excited. I make dinner for Shamus and myself every Monday. You just so happen to be here," she replies with a chuckle. "Hey, can you get the bottle of Moscato from the fridge?"

I freeze. "Uh, should... should we be drinking?"

She lets out a sigh. I don't have to see her to know she's rolling her eyes. "I can have a glass of wine, okay? Alcohol was never my problem."

"I know, babe. I just... I don't know. I'm sorry," I relent, not wanting to ruin the picture-perfect day we've had.

She spins around to face me, encircling her arms around my neck. "I appreciate your concern. It means a lot to me that you care so much."

"I care about you more than anything," I reply.

"Then pour me a glass of wine," she whispers seductively into my ear.

Fighting the desire that is forming in my pants, I open the fridge and pour three glasses of Moscato. Zayna finishes up dinner, and by the time Shamus arrives home, the table is set, complete with folded paper napkins and a vanilla scented candle.

Shamus takes a seat, his eyes dancing with delight. "This looks fucking fantastic. What would I do without you, Zay-Zay?"

Zay-Zay. I make a mental note to give her shit for that later.

The three of us eat together, chit-chatting about our days in between bites of cheesy pasta. I spent the last eight hours in front of a sink, while Shamus had to detail not one but two hummer limousines at work. Zayna covered Jaime's lunch shift and then spent the rest of the afternoon prepping dinner and researching Narcotics Anonymous.

"You want to go to meetings?" Shamus seems surprised. "But you said—"

"I know what I said, but I don't want to panic every time my bank account tells me I can't have suboxone," she explains. "I need something constant, something that I can always turn to."

I recall the day Zayna brought home heroin because her dealer was fresh out of suboxone. I remember how small and fragile she looked while sobbing in my arms, her face buried in the crook of my shoulder as she cried herself to sleep. That was a bad day, but it could have ended so much worse.

"Well, if you want to start going to meetings, I'll support you," I tell her, giving her hand a squeeze underneath the table.

Her golden gaze meets mine as a megawatt smile lights up her face. "Thanks, Bowie."

"Obviously, I'll support you, too. I'm the one who told you about NA, remember?" Shamus pipes in.

"Yeah, yeah," Zayna brushes him off. "Sorry, big brother, but I'm not letting you take credit for this one."

The words "big brother" take me back to last night. My own big brother made a big announcement, and then I almost made an even more monumental declaration to Gemma. I'm glad I didn't. She might be a journalist, but I don't think she could handle the truth.

That, of course, has not stopped her from blowing up my phone all day. Both she and my mother have called and texted over a dozen times. They're worried about me, I get that. I just need some time away from the Beauforts.

Once our stomachs are full, I help Zayna put away the leftovers and wash the dishes—something else I could get used to. Starting the day with Zayna was incredible. Ending the day with her is just as great.

"Hey, I'm gonna step out and make a phone call real quick," I inform her, deciding that I should let my family know I'm alright. If I don't, they'll send out a search party soon. "Want me to grab you a coffee before Poppy's closes?"

"Yes, please!" she replies. "While you're gone, I'm gonna take a shower. I snagged some of Shamus's sweatpants, by the way. I put them on the couch for you."

"Thank you, baby." I pull her in for a quick peck on the lips before grabbing my coat and heading out.

I stand outside of the diner, take out my cell, and call Gemma. As I wait for her to pick up, I close my eyes, enjoying the cool spring breeze on my face. It's April now, which means that all the snow has thawed and the earth is coming back to life.

"Bowie! Hey!" my sister answers. The relief in her voice makes my stomach tighten with guilt. "God, I've been worried about you all day. Where have you been?"

"I slept at a friend's house last night," I reply, not wishing to go into any unnecessary detail. This isn't how I want my family to find out about Zayna. "I... I think I'm gonna be staying here for a while, actually."

"It's not because of what happened last night, is it? I never should have shown you Raelyn's videos. I'm so sorry, Bowie."

"It's not the videos," I assure her. "It's just... everything. I think I need some space for a while."

"Oh, okay." There's a long pause on the other end. "Bowie, last night, you were going to tell me something. Do you want to tell me now?"

I contemplate my response carefully. I can't tell her about Benson—not now, at least, and definitely not over the phone. That's a low that I don't want to stoop to. This information will destroy her, and I need to be there in person to console her when she finds out. 

"I don't think so," I finally say. "I'll see you around, Gemma. Take care of yourself."

I end the call before she can convince me to stay on the phone. With trembling hands, I shove my cell into my pocket and go back inside.