She never says a word.
The television is still on, infomercial after infomercial for more useless products that only those up at two in the morning might buy. The lamp light is soft now, since it is no longer competing with the sunlight through the windows, and it shades all the surfaces with a comforting glow. The kids are fast asleep and they ended up getting their way after all – the three of them piled onto each other, worn out from swimming and giggling and ice-cream dinners.
And so Marissa stayed on this one bed, shoes off and legs tucked up nicely and eyes slowly closing.
And so Bianca keeps on watching the television in order to prevent her gaze from lingering where it should not; she stays silent when she has so much to say and she stays on her side of this invisible chasm when all she wants is to cross it.
/ /
She never says a word.
The sound seeps into her subconscious, messing with strangely interesting dreams, and she blinks her way back to the waking world. The delicate murmuring of voices directs her lazy stare to the television, where some man is dicing up vegetables and then pointing to the knife blade. Like a pendulum swinging once more, Marissa's eyes track back to the bed she is lying upon and to the person she is sharing this slumber with.
And so Bianca sleeps beside her, legs crossed and head tilted to one side and hair slightly covering the face.
And so Marissa finds her attention arrested on this sight, not knowing why she cannot seem to look away; she is ensnared quite suddenly by the curves and the slopes and the dips of Bianca's half-hidden face and, really, turning around is the last thing Marissa wants to do.
/ /
Before dawn fully breaks and before children jump on the bed out of excitement and before Bianca has time to school her features and before Marissa has time to over-analyze this situation, they awake at the same time and their eyes gradually meet.
It takes seconds for both of them to notice just how close they are; the way one of Marissa's legs is perfectly aligned with one of Bianca's legs – near to touching but not quite. Or the way that, if Bianca were to move that last little inch, their foreheads could gently rest against one another; it is the way they have mirrored one another in sleep, right down to the fact that their hands are now side by side on the mattress – the thumbs pressed together while all other fingers remain separate.
Before confessions can tumble out and before fears can take over and before martyrdom becomes a mantle to wear and before mistakes are too many to count…
…Bianca allows her eyes to close once more and she imagines that this is real, that this is the way she will wake up every morning from now on. Marissa follows suit, a contented sigh sliding past her lips as she shutters her gaze again, and she relishes this moment so much more than she can even comprehend.
Before either one of them can end this, Marissa shifts and Bianca does the same and those hands are closed around each other now.
And they never say a single word.
/ /
END