She’s quiet for a long moment.
“Oh,” she says finally. Soft. Like something settling.
Then hereyes close.
I sit in the chair and watch her breathing even out. Watch the tension leave her face one degree at a time until she looks completely peaceful. Completely unguarded. The lonely dragon clip is on the nightstand. The ridiculous purse is on the floor. One bare foot has escaped from under the blanket.
She looks like herself.
She looks like everything.
I give it another ten minutes to make sure she’s really out. Then I stand, tuck the escaped foot back under the blanket, and set the water bottle where she’ll find it in the morning. Then I scatter a few more around just in case.
At the bathroom door, I pause.
Then I go in and close it quietly behind me.
Because I am only human.
And I have been in leather pants for six hours.
And the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life with just told me she bought a dress for me to take off.
I brace one hand on the cool tile wall.
Close my eyes.
And think about exactly how I’m going to do that.
Slowly.
With considerable attention to detail.
Details matter, I told her.
They really, really do.
sixteen
“BIG YELLOW TAXI” — COUNTING CROWS
Tavey
I was cursed with the circadian rhythms of a dysregulated toddler on steroids. I wake up with the first ray of sunshine, and there’s no going back to sleep.
Now, normally, I don’t mind. There are worms to get, rows to hoe, and code to write.
But this morning?
This morning, I wish I could slip back into the blissful embrace of my theta brainwaves. Partly because my head is pounding and my saliva tastes sour. (How is my mouth both cottonyanddryandsour? I don’t know, but it is.) But also because sleep seems like a better use of my time than trying to piece together my disjointed memories.
I have overindulged in many things in my life.Cheese. Popcorn. LEGOs. Crafting supplies. But rarely alcohol.
Which means all these sensations are grossly unfamiliar. And also, just gross.
My gritty eyes and my memories crave more sleep. My clammy skin and my desecrated internal organs demand I get up.
I pull the covers over my head, but somehow even that minor action makes my stomach flip over in rebellion, propelling me out of bed.
