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I moved my leg and there was her leg. Warm and real and solid. Her arm creeped over and bumped mine. It was like we were trying to figure out where the other one was in the bed now.
Close. We were closer.
Natalie took a shuddering breath and I felt it. Her leg twitched and I felt it.
Why had I asked her to move over? What purpose did that serve?
“Are you okay?” she whispered into the dark.
“Yeah,” I whispered back.
My heart thundered so loud, I was sure she could hear it. She had to be able to hear it.
But why was my heart thundering? Why did it feel like my skin was on fire? Why was I afraid to move because that might bring me into more contact with her skin?
Something was wrong with me and it had nothing to do with the champagne I’d drunk.
“I have to pee,” I announced to the room and fumbled my way to the bathroom.
Bracing my hands on the sink, I tried to get myself together.
My face was pale in the mirror, my eyes too wide.
What was happening?
A knock sounded at the door, making me jump.
“Em? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just too much champagne.”
I flushed the toilet for good measure and then washed my hands.
Natalie was back in bed when I came out, and this time I was the one who hung on the edge of the mattress as far away from her as possible.
It was much easier to relax when we weren’t touching.
A hand slid under the blankets and touched my arm, making me startle so hard, I almost fell out of bed.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Natalie asked.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I squeaked.
I could feel like she wanted to ask again, to pry further, but she didn’t.
I rolled away from her, and after a little while, I felt her curl up on the other side of the bed.
I still didn’t get any sleep.
