The cuddle buddy code

3

I was laying in his bed. Yes, his bed. Looking around his room, it was similar to mine. It was also a master since every house on the street had the same floor plan. His house was the reverse version of mine, like someone spun his around. Our windows were actually facing each other. I look to my left to see a flat screen mounted on his wall. A PS4 connected to it, from the gaming system two controllers sat on two bean bags. One bean bag was blue, the other yellow. It was really the only color in his room. The blue-grey walls, the black furniture, his black and white thin striped comforter all made his room feel dull. But not a drab dull that makes you sad, a warm one. It was surprisingly clean too. He was showering as I laid there in his bed, still in my clothes. By dress scratching my legs. I stood up carefully and silently walked to the dresser. I pulled open a drawer to find short piles of neatly folded and stacked shirts. I ran my finger over the stacks, feeling the softness against my finger. I stopped at the last pile, slowly pulling the top shirt out of the drawer, letting it unfold as I held it by the shoulders. It was simple, gray, completely solid. I glanced around the room before pulling my dress over my head. I glanced in his mirror, for the state I was in, I still had a full B cup. I quickly folded my dress and placed it on top of the dresser. I slid the tee shirt over my head, walking quietly across his hardwood floors onto his bed. I curled up into the sheets, letting the soft sheets caress my legs. Almost as if on cue, the pipes screeched and the water stopped. I listened to his feet hit the floor, pulling the towel off the rack. Every sound was familiar. Soon the door opened. My back was to him, but I heard him well he opened his drawers, pulled out clothes, dropped his towel. Dropped his towel. Dropped his towel. Dropped his towel! Holy shit he dropped his towel!

"I see you helped yourself to my shirt." He hadn't put boxers on yet.

"Yeah. Sorry." I could only whisper. So softly, I could barley hear it. I heard him dry his hair off.

"Don't be it's fine." He mumbled. I rolled over. I didn't look down. Just his upper half. I watched his shoulder muscles ripple as he pulled his boxers on. He turned and I could see his abs. He had the body of a football player. He was one after all. Beautiful really, gorgeous.

"Do you, uhm. Do you have doughnuts?" I asked softly, not being around my mom and that granola bar earlier have actually left me hungry.

"You want to eat?" He looked overjoyed, dashing out of his room before I could answer and hastily returned with a bag of mini powdered doughnuts. He held it up excitedly. He walked over and sat with me on the bed. He basically tore the bag wide open, digging in before I had the chance to grab one. When I finally got one that reached my standards I picked it up careful to only use two fingers and took a bite. My mouth flooded as I chewed. The sugar was so good, so sweet. I fell back onto the bed as I took another small bite of the mini doughnut. But then my mouth was watering for a new reason. I covered my mouth and dashed to the bathroom, throwing up what little contents I had in my stomach. Hands were already holding my hair back. I wiped my mouth and flushed the toilet. I leaned against the wall.

"I'm sorry." I murmured feeling defeated. I stared down at my hands. He lifted my chin. He whispered,

"Don't ever be sorry for trying Bex."

{~}

An alarm went off. What? That's not my alarm. Oh shit! I shot out of bed to see I wasn't in my room, let alone my house. Nixon groaned, rolling over as the alarm chirped.

"Nixon." I snapped loudly. He rolled even further, falling out of bed with a loud thud, wrapped in sheets.

"What?" He groaned, smacking his alarm clock till it stopped.

"It's Tuesday." I began pacing back and fourth, my breath becoming short. "My mom has Tuesday mornings off. She'll know I'm not home. She'll know!" He shot up to the panic in my voice.

"Relax Bexley okay?" He cooed lightly. Standing up and pulling me into his embrace. I had somehow wriggled out of my teeshirt last night. So there we were, in our underwear, holding each other close. As if on cue the door opened.

"SEX!" Nixon's little brother, Dylan screamed from the doorway before dashing out. "SEX! MOM! MOM! NIXON HAS A NAKED G-" Nixon had chased his brother into the hall and clamped a hand over Dylan's mouth.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't say another word about this." Nixon hissed into Dylan's ear. I watched shyly from the doorway, holding on lightly to the trim. Next thing we knew Miss. Finn was running up the stairs to see us all. I tried my best to shy into the bedroom but my attempt wasn't successful.

"Bexley!?" She half screamed. I backed up a little, growing increasingly afraid and upset. My back hit the trim on the door and I stumbled into the room. I breathed heavily, sucking in a sharp breath. I grabbed the end of his bed frame hard. Yelling had erupted in the hall. I felt my legs go week. My knees hit the floor and I curled up on the end on the bed frame, closing my eyes shit tight. I heard feet walking.

"Bex!" Nixon shouted. I felt strong arms wrap around me. Then I felt a mattress under my back. I felt Nixon straddle me. His forehead against mine.

"Nixon what's going on?" I heard his mother ask. He didn't respond. I just felt his breath on me as he shifted, pulling me onto his lap and rocking me back and forth I breathed in the scent of him and relaxed in his arms, letting a small tear roll down my cheek.

"Bex has anxiety. I'm her anchor person." He spoke clearly, holding me closer. And they left us, and he just held me.