Rain
By Jessica Thrasher
It's raining outside.
As per usual, I can't sleep. I haven't slept through the night since the seventh month of pregnancy and it's been hell on my mind and my body. For the tenth time tonight I notice the weird cat shaped pattern on the ceiling. Turning on my side, I fan myself with my hand and wish for the hundredth time this week that we had central air in the new house. It's the hottest week of the year, they've said in the newspapers. The hottest July in almost a century, they say on the telly.
I hear him move.
My husband tosses and turns on his side of the bed, battling demons I wish only he could see. He had been sleeping fitfully lately and getting little rest from the sleep he does get, but he still gets himself out of bed in the morning and goes to practice like a dutiful husband. The bags under his eyes grow darker every day but he refuses sleeping potions, saying that he needs to be able to wake in case I go into labor.
I get up, unable to simply lie in a pool of my own sweat any longer, and pad my way down to the kitchen. But before I leave, I grab the empty cup on our nightstand and take it with me. The threat if Voldemort is real, but not so imminent that I can't open the window and let the cool night breeze blow through the kitchen. I stand in front of the window and close my eyes for a second as the wind sweeps sweetly across my face. Noticing the almost full moon, I say a little prayer for our friend Remus. The poor dear will have another transformation within the week. Remembering that the icebox still works, I open it and look for something appetizing while the air fans across my body.
I spot an orange in the bottom drawer.
Retrieving a knife from the drawer, I cut the ends off the ripe, juicy fruit and begin to peel. I manage to get the rine off in one piece and I put it in the blue glass dish on the counter. Tomorrow morning I'll slice and crush the peel until the kitchen is filled with its zesty scent.
The first bite fills my mouth with a sweet tang that makes my mouth pucker just a little in a wholly pleasant way. I savor it, rolling the taste around in my mouth until I simply have to swallow. I stay in the kitchen for another minute before shutting the window and grabbing the empty cup on the counter. I turn on the tap and wait for the water to get cold enough that it makes my fingers numb before I stick the cup under the stream of water. And just for good measure, I throw a couple of ice cubes in from the freezer on my way back upstairs.
I lay back down and it's not nearly so unbearable now that the sheets have had a chance to air and cool a little bit and my thin shift has dried. The coverlet and the sheets lay forgotten on the floor- we haven't had them on the bed since the summer took a turn for the unbearably hot. The orange sates me as I lay still in the quiet of the night.
He thrashes again.
It's gotten more violent; his lean, bare body contorting in a way that looks painful to me while his nightmare ensues. I dare not wake him now; he must come awake on his own or he gets disoriented and frightened.
Unconsciously, I touch my throat.
No, he never meant to hurt me, in fact I'm positive that in that dream he was protecting us; me, the baby, our friends, from the evil that hangs like a dark cloud over our lives. But I woke him from one of his first serious nightmares while he thrashed on our bed. With a strangled yell, his hands closed around my throat and he pinned me down on the bed. It took but a split second for him to realize it was I, and release me. He cried; he gathered me up in his arms and rocked me while he cried into my hair. I whispered nonsensical words of comfort and we made love until just before the sun rose.
I am on my last section of orange, having just bitten into the sweet fruit, when he snaps awake. I never know if he wins or loses the wars in his dreams, but I don't ask. His handsome features are first twisted in confusion as he tries to figure out to where the enemy has disappeared. When he remembers, he turns to look at me with a fiercely protective look.
I smile softly and pop the last bit of orange in his mouth.
While he chews I reach over to the nightstand for the water glass and hand it to him. It amazes me how fast he drinks it, the cold water not even stinging his teeth as he gulps it down. His eyes speak his gratitude as he hands the cup back to me to replace.
As I try to settle back down and attempt to get at least an hour or two's worth of sleep, I feel him turn over into my side. His head drops onto my shoulder, his legs twine with mine, one of his arms drapes lazily across my swollen belly. I smile and kiss his temple. He seeks from me the comfort he is usually so ready to hand out to anyone. He needs to recharge that comfort and he draws it from me. Resting my head against his, I wrap an arm around him and draw him closer.
"I love you, James," I whisper against his unruly mop of dark hair.
I feel him smile against my shoulder. "I love you too, Lily."
Finally, as we hold each other close despite the heat, we sleep.
End