I like hearing him sing. It’s helping, I think.
My heart slows, just a little.
But I’m sure he can feel it pounding as he holds me.
???
An hour passes, maybe two.
We sit on the floor now, still wrapped together like a pancake.
He never lets me go, not once.
When the worst of the storm finally subsides, we lay against the pillows.
He spoons me the entire night.
I must have drifted off to sleep at some point.
When I open my eyes, it’s still pitch black.
The noise has ceased at last.
Sticky humidity hangs low, beads of sweat forming on our skin.
The sheets are damp, the blanket too.
“You awake?” Porter whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Still no air con,” he grumbles.
“Follow me,” I reply, holding out my hand.
We tiptoe down to the kitchen.
An eerie silence replaces the usual hum of refrigerators and vent pipes.
Prying the door of the freezer open, we fill two large metal bowls with ice.
Carrying them back to the room, we’re careful not to wake anyone.
Laying side by side on the bed I remove my shirt.
Then I spread a handful of frosty cubes across my chest and stomach.
Porter does the same.
Now that I’m calm, his questions flow.
“Where did you disappear to yesterday, anyway?” he asks. “I missed ya.”
“Went to the worst beach in the world,” I laugh quietly.
“Nudgee, I'm guessing?”
“Uh huh. So much for my first time being special.”
