She lay on her stomach with her head on the pillow, hands beneath it, facing him in the low light. He stared at the ceiling as he narrated (or was it thinking out aloud?…he could never tell). It was the sudden stillness of a moment that made him stop and turn to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. She had fallen asleep.
From the dark circles under her eyes to the pale complexion, the tatty old T shirt to the socks thrown across the room, the bag haphazardly hung on the peg to the barely touched mircrowave meal. He noticed then the signs of a heavy schedule and a thoroughly exhausted body. Tired eyes that must have begged for a break from an even tired mind.
Did her heart ever tire? Did it feel burdened enough to just let it all go, to get angry, to retort….to break? And yet, she had found the kindness in that beating muscle to accomodate his need to be heard, to hide from them all as he planned what might well be a deal with the devil himself.
As he watched her face at peace in that exhausted sleep, he promised himself to explore her mystery, to decode her aura, the power that helped him calm down and think and plot his moves so clearly. Yes, that would be his next assignment. It would be a kind of a Christmas gift for himself.
But for now, back to work, he thought as he lay back and planned what he hoped would be another Waterloo.