I watched as the pale fingers of dawn peeked through the semi sheer drapes of my bedroom with aching eyes. I didn't sleep at all and when I did, I had fevered dreams, dreams that brought a blush to my cheeks when I tried to recall them and they
hit me back in lurid detail. I was in no shape to work that day, so I called off. That way I could keep a close eye on my new house guest. I wasn't quite comfortable with him being alone in my apartment.
I showered quickly and dressed, not wanting to walk around the apartment in my pajamas and with my hair standing on end. I looked in on him briefly on my way to the kitchen to make coffee, and he was peacefully asleep on the couch, the blankets
covering all but a patch of his bright hair upon the pillow. I retrieved his clothing from the dryer, folding it neatly and placing it near the couch so he could dress when he awakened. I slipped out the door and down the street to the butcher's so I could get some proper nourishment for him. I figured he would need it above all things to heal
himself completely. Who knows what he faced all those months ago. I knew he sacrificed himself to destroy The First, but I could barely imagine what that would have been like, what he went through to achieve that. It blew my mind, utterly
and completely.
I was surprised to see that he was awake when I returned. He sat in a tangle of blankets and pillows, strong, scarred shoulders bare, looking at me with bright, all seeing eyes. I blinked and moved toward the kitchen, my heart turning over in my chest, wondering why the hell he had such an overwhelming affect on me. I hated it, and a fierce longing twisted itself inside me. "I got you some proper...food." I said
cheerfully, unloading my carrier bags on the kitchen counter. I filled a glass with still warm blood and gave it to him, avoiding his eyes.
"Thank you." I heard him mutter, the words barely audible. I chanced a look his way as he drank. "How are the burns doing?" I asked. "Need more bandages?"
"Better." He replied. "I don't think so." He gulped down the blood, quickly, as if
old strength was returning to him. I refilled the glass, and leaned against a chair facing the couch, half watching him as he finished, not knowing what to say, and trying not to trip over my own feet. He passed the glass to me, and he fell completely quiet, a silence that filled the apartment and hung in the air between us. I didn't dare speak or ask questions. I rinsed his glass, streaked with blood, the sound of water flowing in the sink echoing against the walls, meshing with the thudding of my heart.
I strolled back into the sitting room, and I watched him in his silence, his eyes filling with a profound pain I couldn't begin to understand or even be able to explain. He turned his gaze to me and I was frozen like a deer in headlights. I couldn't help but stare back at him, looking ashen and unbelievably devastated, covered in my bandages and blankets.
"Did she survive?" He asked, his eyes shining, boring into me. It took but a second for me to realize who he was alluding to, and my chest became heavy and I felt for him immediately.
"Yes." I said. "...so much news coverage afterwards. No one knows exactly where she is...there have been sightings, but not for months...I think...I think that maybe she doesn't want to be found...after all that..happened..."
My voice sounded so weak, so unconvincing, and I mentally kicked myself.
"Is she...in Los Angeles with..." he began, but I interupted him.
"No...no one knows for sure, but I...I don't think so..there's no proof really...it's a big mystery...her whereabouts..." I stammered on again, and the pure anguish in his expression striking me to the heart. And idea suddenly popped in my head. "Wait..." I went into my room and recovered my laptop computer. I opened it, placing it upon his
blanketed lap and hooking it up. "If you do a quick search, you can probably find out everything you want to know."
He nodded, barely glancing at me, and was glued to my computer for the rest of the day and into the evening.
I let him alone and went to bed, wondering if I should call off another day from work and say I was ill, I was still feeling vastly tired and overwhelmed. I fell into a deep, dark, death-like sleep. No dreams, no erotic images, just velvet blackness encasing
me in warmth and security.
A soft, muffled sound attacked my ears through the wafer thin walls of the apartment,
and my eyes fluttered open. I am a light sleeper, so right away my first instinct was to close my eyes again and drift back into the void. But I heard the noise again, this time
higher and some what clearer. I rolled over in my bed, listening hard. A few moments flew past, and there the noise was again, a soft, miserable sound, seemingly coming from the direction of my sitting room.
I left my bedroom and padded toward the sitting room, listening hard all the while. The sound was more constant now, louder, and I could recognize it...weeping...soft,
hushed, but masculine weeping. Not wild, uncontrolled wailing but gentle hopeless sobs.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw him, awake as I was on the couch, head in his hands, crying. I stopped where I stood, not wanting to intrude, my heart breaking for him, when he turned and saw me. I wanted to walk away, go back
to bed, forget that I even heard him, but the moment he looked at me, my instincts took over, and I gave myself to a powerful impulse.
I knelt a the side of the couch and put my arms around his broad, shaking shoulders. To my astonishment, he pulled me closer, and he sobbed softly against my throat, and I held him, held him tightly to me, running a soothing hand through the silkiness of his hair. I breathed the scent of him deeply, holding him a long time, until he quieted. We didn't dare let our gazes meet. My hands slid over the smooth skin of his arms
as I let him go, a sensation I will never forget, and will always cherish. Still, to this day, I don't know how I did it, actually released him from that embrace, and returned to my lonely bed.
hit me back in lurid detail. I was in no shape to work that day, so I called off. That way I could keep a close eye on my new house guest. I wasn't quite comfortable with him being alone in my apartment.
I showered quickly and dressed, not wanting to walk around the apartment in my pajamas and with my hair standing on end. I looked in on him briefly on my way to the kitchen to make coffee, and he was peacefully asleep on the couch, the blankets
covering all but a patch of his bright hair upon the pillow. I retrieved his clothing from the dryer, folding it neatly and placing it near the couch so he could dress when he awakened. I slipped out the door and down the street to the butcher's so I could get some proper nourishment for him. I figured he would need it above all things to heal
himself completely. Who knows what he faced all those months ago. I knew he sacrificed himself to destroy The First, but I could barely imagine what that would have been like, what he went through to achieve that. It blew my mind, utterly
and completely.
I was surprised to see that he was awake when I returned. He sat in a tangle of blankets and pillows, strong, scarred shoulders bare, looking at me with bright, all seeing eyes. I blinked and moved toward the kitchen, my heart turning over in my chest, wondering why the hell he had such an overwhelming affect on me. I hated it, and a fierce longing twisted itself inside me. "I got you some proper...food." I said
cheerfully, unloading my carrier bags on the kitchen counter. I filled a glass with still warm blood and gave it to him, avoiding his eyes.
"Thank you." I heard him mutter, the words barely audible. I chanced a look his way as he drank. "How are the burns doing?" I asked. "Need more bandages?"
"Better." He replied. "I don't think so." He gulped down the blood, quickly, as if
old strength was returning to him. I refilled the glass, and leaned against a chair facing the couch, half watching him as he finished, not knowing what to say, and trying not to trip over my own feet. He passed the glass to me, and he fell completely quiet, a silence that filled the apartment and hung in the air between us. I didn't dare speak or ask questions. I rinsed his glass, streaked with blood, the sound of water flowing in the sink echoing against the walls, meshing with the thudding of my heart.
I strolled back into the sitting room, and I watched him in his silence, his eyes filling with a profound pain I couldn't begin to understand or even be able to explain. He turned his gaze to me and I was frozen like a deer in headlights. I couldn't help but stare back at him, looking ashen and unbelievably devastated, covered in my bandages and blankets.
"Did she survive?" He asked, his eyes shining, boring into me. It took but a second for me to realize who he was alluding to, and my chest became heavy and I felt for him immediately.
"Yes." I said. "...so much news coverage afterwards. No one knows exactly where she is...there have been sightings, but not for months...I think...I think that maybe she doesn't want to be found...after all that..happened..."
My voice sounded so weak, so unconvincing, and I mentally kicked myself.
"Is she...in Los Angeles with..." he began, but I interupted him.
"No...no one knows for sure, but I...I don't think so..there's no proof really...it's a big mystery...her whereabouts..." I stammered on again, and the pure anguish in his expression striking me to the heart. And idea suddenly popped in my head. "Wait..." I went into my room and recovered my laptop computer. I opened it, placing it upon his
blanketed lap and hooking it up. "If you do a quick search, you can probably find out everything you want to know."
He nodded, barely glancing at me, and was glued to my computer for the rest of the day and into the evening.
I let him alone and went to bed, wondering if I should call off another day from work and say I was ill, I was still feeling vastly tired and overwhelmed. I fell into a deep, dark, death-like sleep. No dreams, no erotic images, just velvet blackness encasing
me in warmth and security.
A soft, muffled sound attacked my ears through the wafer thin walls of the apartment,
and my eyes fluttered open. I am a light sleeper, so right away my first instinct was to close my eyes again and drift back into the void. But I heard the noise again, this time
higher and some what clearer. I rolled over in my bed, listening hard. A few moments flew past, and there the noise was again, a soft, miserable sound, seemingly coming from the direction of my sitting room.
I left my bedroom and padded toward the sitting room, listening hard all the while. The sound was more constant now, louder, and I could recognize it...weeping...soft,
hushed, but masculine weeping. Not wild, uncontrolled wailing but gentle hopeless sobs.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw him, awake as I was on the couch, head in his hands, crying. I stopped where I stood, not wanting to intrude, my heart breaking for him, when he turned and saw me. I wanted to walk away, go back
to bed, forget that I even heard him, but the moment he looked at me, my instincts took over, and I gave myself to a powerful impulse.
I knelt a the side of the couch and put my arms around his broad, shaking shoulders. To my astonishment, he pulled me closer, and he sobbed softly against my throat, and I held him, held him tightly to me, running a soothing hand through the silkiness of his hair. I breathed the scent of him deeply, holding him a long time, until he quieted. We didn't dare let our gazes meet. My hands slid over the smooth skin of his arms
as I let him go, a sensation I will never forget, and will always cherish. Still, to this day, I don't know how I did it, actually released him from that embrace, and returned to my lonely bed.
