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She’s always been somewhat fragile and sensitive, but the death of a child would cause any sane parent’s world to collapse on itself. I try to imagine her horrified expression as a white sheet is pulled away from my bloated blue face in the basement of a morgue.
Her mind would snap, becoming untethered from reality. My poor father would have to dedicate his life to caring for her while dealing with his own grief.
It looks like I have no choice at this point.
As if by fate, I glance further downward at a slight glimmer peaking out of the pocket of his pants.
It’s his keyring.
At this point, I need to take this as an omen. The sudden access to his keys must be a sign from the universe.
It needs to be. That’s the only hope I have left.
He’s still dead to the world, snoring slightly enough for me to hear the uninterrupted rhythm of his breathing. It would be easy enough to notice if something changed, and if he’s still delirious from sleep, I could still redeem myself if I lie well enough.
I wish I had a plan for something like this before it happened.
I test the depth of his sleep by grazing my hand along the side of his stomach. I figure that if he’s going to wake up from anything, a light touch is a good place to start.
Nothing.
He doesn’t even acknowledge the sensation of my hand against his body.
Now that I’m able to test my limits, I’m more confident that I’ll be able to reach into his pants pocket and grab the keys without disturbing him.
But first, I need to tempt him to wake up again.
I realize there are only a few opportunities to do this before he ends up getting annoyed and waking up anyway, so I add just a little more pressure the next two times that I touch him.
Still no response.
Damn, he really must not know how deep his sleep is if he’s given me the freedom to do this.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. The intensity of my heart beating in my ears is loud enough to distort the sound of his breathing, throwing off my ability to gauge if I’ve awakened him.
The closer I get to fulfilling my goal, the more I’m impeded by fear.
I work my hand down further toward his pocket, feeling slightly dirty about how close I am to his cock as I slip my hand inside. The satin-lined surface of his pants feels pleasant and warm against my freezing cold hands.
I whine internally about pulling myself away from him as I consider the unforgiving cold outside. If I could, I’d pour his body heat into my clothes to keep me warm.
The keys are also warm against my fingers, the biggest key scraping against my skin as I work it out of the bottom of his pocket. I’m hoping to God that there’s nothing loose inside that could fall to the floor and awaken him.
Just as I feel the weight of the keys slide out of his pants and into my hand, I feel a heavy grip on my wrist.
My blood runs cold, and I nearly collapse from the venomous combination of terror, dread, and regret.
“I’d avoid doing things like that in the future,” he groans sleepily. “Maybe you should go back to sleep so you can clear your head. You’re not thinking straight.”
At first, I’m confused about whether he’s trying to be funny.
When I look closer at his face, he appears to be smiling.
I’m trembling terribly now, struggling to hold myself up with my free arm as he pulls me back down.
He tears the keys away from me, and I watch his huge hand envelop them like they’ve melted into his skin. There’s no way I could pry them from his grip even if he did fall back asleep.
So, not only am I forced to stay with him now, but I’ve also managed to get on his bad side.
