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The flat smelled of her. Lavender and lilies and that unique scent I’d found nowhere else apart from her skin. It was the smell I associated with home, safety, love. The smell permeated every room in her flat when we lived together, and stepping through the door sent me back to a time when everything was so much simpler and less broken.
I closed the door quietly behind me. The only sound was the ticking clock coming from above the entrance and the humming fridge through the door to the kitchen. Everything else was silent, peaceful.
I could see a short corridor leading to several doors beyond the living room, so I took my chances. Dom had left her bedroom door open, and I had to stop and catch my breath at the sight of her, wrapped up in a duvet, looking so serene as she slept away in the dim room.
I slipped off my shoes, leaving them at the door as I walked towards her, my body blocking the light that crept in from the corridor. I could hear the gentle puffs of Cat’s breath, the crackle of the duvet as her chest rose and fell. She’d curled on her side and was using her hand as a pillow, the other stretched out before her, freely resting on the bed. Was this the same woman who demanded I follow her orders and then laughed as she rocked my body with pleasure?
I couldn’t resist sitting next to her, then threading my fingers under her palm and running my hand through her hair. She was still warm, and I was worried she could get worse, but I could finally touch her, see the little wrinkle in her nose as she woke, watch her body shift under the duvet as she stretched. Her eyes opened, widening as she saw me.
“Your boyfriend was weirdly okay with me coming in,” I said.
If he even was that. She quickly relaxed into a smile, tightening her hand around mine. I stroked my thumb against her cheek, wondering if I’d ever have another chance to touch her so intimately.
She gave a hoarse chuckle. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Her lids sank closed, and she tugged on my arm, pulling me down onto the bed.
“Cat?” I followed her, lifting my feet on the bed and letting her tuck my hand under her ear. “Kitty Cat?”
But she was already gone, her light puffs replaced by gentle snores that blew softly on my face as I joined her on the pillow.
I held myself as still as possible, scared I would wake her. The air was thick and musty. I wanted to do something for her, open a window, make her food, whatever people did for each other when they were ill. But she’d trapped me in the sweetest prison, and I never wanted to be free.
Dom wasn’t her boyfriend.
I was trying to calm my heart, but it was already setting off fireworks.
Dom wasn’t her boyfriend.
Crowds were cheering — celebrations were happening all over the city —world peace had been declared.
Dom wasn’t her fucking boyfriend!
I watched her in awe. Doors were opening — a new dawn was rising — hope was restored.
She wasn’t in love with Dom. Had she ever actually been with him? Or was Bun right when she spent hours after our engagement party and the days following bitching about how there was no way Dom wasn’t gay?
It explained why the man let a not-so-ex into his ‘girlfriend’s’ flat, but fuck me, that was confusing.
My heart pounded as I watched her. Cat’s face was relaxed, no hard lines between her eyebrows or tight twists to her mouth. Her jaw was soft, and the usual tense set of her shoulders had evened out against her pillows. This was Cat as I remembered her, the one who slept peacefully in my arms when her only worries had been essay deadlines and family drama. Before I ruined it all by being an arrogant little prick.
I couldn’t blame myself for everything in her life, but there was a reason she was so harsh and unforgiving, and I was sure I triggered it. I’d wanted to be a rock for her, a safe harbour in storms. Instead, I’d shattered her trust, and she left.
I wanted another chance at this. I wanted to show her she could trust me again, that I could be someone for her to lean on. I wanted her to believe I’d be there for her and choose her over everything else.
I’d been putting it into words in so many ways. If she’d heard our songs, she would know those were about her. I sang about our dates, lazy mornings in bed, and making love in the park at midnight. I sang songs begging her to come back, songs apologising, songs of how much I missed her. And the guys hated it, even if they wouldn’t admit it. They wanted to sing about booze and sex, but the grungy love songs made us famous. If we’d kept to our original songs, the stuff we wrote before I met Cat, we’d never have been signed.
She mumbled in her sleep and gripped me tighter. I wanted to pull her to my chest and bury myself inside her, but I settled for crawling closer and watching her sleep, feeling lyrics flow through me, more songs forming. I was content to let them run on. I’d remember them if they were important.
By midday, I was cold, and my arms were numb. I lifted the covers, sneaking in with her to join her snooze. I should have gone to the studio, but I didn’t know if I’d ever be with her like this again. Within minutes, the hot cave of her duvet was drowning me. I slid out and undressed awkwardly next to the bed, stupidly sneaking off my T-shirt and trousers like a thief trying not to set off an alarm. She slept through all my rustling.
I dumped the rest of my clothes in a pile beside the bed, then lifted the duvet to re-join her, wrapping my arms around her as she murmured sleepily. I pulled her close, humbled by how she tightened her hold on me, nestling into my shoulder, so different from how she looked when she ran from my kiss. It was just us now. The only thing separating her skin from mine was the thin cotton of her pyjamas.
This was more than enough. It was more than I’d hoped for after she kept pushing me away. I could hold her, hear her breathe, and imagine her eyes lighting up when she woke up. She would shower me with kisses, so happy to see me that she wouldn’t hold back from showing me how deeply she loved me.
Cat
Ithought it was just another dream, like all the other ones I’d had, the ones where Max loved me.
