This has got rather angst-y of late, hasn't it? I promise it'll be fluffy next chapter! Thank you very much for all of the reviews. I have a one-shot and another story coming up soon as well; but I'll shut up because I'm rambling A LOT.
-She woke in his strong arms, her face buried in his chest, one of his hands in her tangled hair, the other on her waist. The bed sheets were messily crumpled around their bodies; sunlight illuminating part of the bedroom from the crack in the curtains, and she squinted as she moved, the bright light blinding her for a moment. She could smell his aftershave as she shifted slightly – and the smell comforted her, as she closed her eyes and smiled.
As he woke up, his grip tightened around her, and he appeared to breathe in her scent as he shifted his position. They had somehow ended up at the very edge of the bed – on what she now knew to be the side he slept on. She opened her eyes a crack, and saw his clear blue orbs looking straight back at her; and even through the sleepiness they were both suffering, his eyes were bright and just how she always remembered them.
Not, of course, that she thought of Tom Clarkson's eyes at any point. And she certainly didn't dream about them. She was far, far too tough for that.
"Morning." He murmured, smiling as she yawned and curled her lean body into his. Although it was quite hot outside, they lay together as if they were trying to keep warm in the middle of winter. Secretly, she rather enjoyed this – it was rare for her to be able to lie in bed with a man, silently, holding each other as if they would never let go.
She groaned in response, flexing her shoulders and moving slightly further up the unmade bed to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel his hand massaging her back, moving to where her scar was and brushing the edges of the raw, red mark. Men had always run when they realised her imperfections. They didn't like the thought of damaged goods.
"D'you mind if I use your shower?" she asked, sitting up partially, resting her elbow on the untouched pillow beside her. It was 6:45am, and the students were expected to be down at breakfast in just over an hour – giving her time to wash her hair, get dressed, do her makeup and come back to Tom's room, before going down to breakfast, and, eventually, out into London.
"Feel free." he replied, his voice deeper than usual due to the lack of sleep they had both had last night; for various reasons. After last night, he didn't believe that he could ever see her in quite the same way ever again.
He hadn't known that this vulnerable, timid and afraid part of Nicki had existed, and he was stunned at how close she had allowed him to be last night. He knew that she wasn't the sort of person who let people in; let them see a different side to her – but he couldn't have imagined that he would be the one allowed to see the damage the world had done to her.
-Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opened, steam escaping into the bedroom.
Nicki's head appeared around the wooden door, her hair dripping wet and already beginning to form curls as she coughed to catch his attention.
"Er... Tom, there aren't any towels in the bathroom."
He gulped; and he was pretty sure that his eyes were on the verge of popping out of their sockets. Oh, god. She was entirely naked. At this rate, he wouldn't survive the week without suffering a heart attack. Especially considering that as he got more and more tired, she just seemed more and more inviting – and she seemed to say more and more suggestive things.
"Oh."
"Are they in the room anywhere?" she asked, biting her lip and scrunching her nose up. Her head was cocked to one side, her hair looking far longer than he'd thought it was – in fact, he was battling the urge to run his hands through the silky, shiny brunette waves.
"Let me look..." he replied, glancing around the bedroom for likely places that he could find them. He tried the wardrobe, succeeding only in tipping half of his clothes onto his head – but at least Nicki laughed. He loved her laugh; and he smiled to himself as he emerged from the pile of t-shirts, his attempts at finding the towels entirely unsuccessful.
He looked under the bed, finding only his empty suitcase and a pair of socks. In his attempt to stand back up with dignity, he hit his head off the bedside table – hard. With a resounding crash, the draw flew out of its' runners, landing on his chest as he groaned, cursing under his breath.
"Tom?" she called, concern lacing her slightly husky voice. He picked up the empty draw, placing it back on its' runners and beginning to sit back up.
"I'm alright!" he answered, leaning against the bed, "Bloody draw fell on me."
He heard her rush across the room from the bathroom; the sound of her wet feet on the cream carpet becoming louder as she approached him. A silky, tanned pair of legs were suddenly next to him, her gentle hands running through his hair, her fingers roaming over where he had collided with the draw.
"You complete idiot." She stated, and he could tell that she was smiling – he could imagine her coral blue eyes sparkling, and the way that she always partially closed her eyes as her smile widened, lips parting to reveal her even white teeth. Clichéd as it was; Nicki could light up a room with her smile.
He wasn't entirely sure where he should be looking – there was a mirror almost everywhere he looked – apart from behind him; where she sat. And he was almost entirely sure that she was wearing absolutely nothing.
"Do you want to borrow one of my t-shirts?" he asked – that being the only logical solution to the problem that he could think of.
"As long as you don't mind it getting wet."
Oh, Jesus. Sometimes he really wished that she wouldn't say these things.
Some people saw stars when they got hit on the head. Tom Clarkson, however, saw Nicki Boston sat next to him naked.
"Where are they?" she asked, her soft hands slipping down to his shoulders, resting subconsciously; her fingers tracing patterns, manicured nails lightly scratching his skin.
"On the floor, mostly, I think." He answered, and it then occurred to him that she would have to be practically right in front of him, completely naked, bending over, in order to pick up a t-shirt. He tried to avert his gaze; but succeeded only in finding a mirror with a perfect reflection of Nicki's naked body.
Oh Bloody Hell.
Their eyes met in the mirror; frozen for a few seconds. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, hair tumbling over her shoulder, but failing to cover the skin he couldn't help but admire.
"Sorry, Nick, oh God." He apologised, gazing at the cream carpet, knowing that right next to him, she was still staring as if she was caught in headlamps.
She swiftly picked up one of his t-shirts from the floor – crimson; possibly the same colour that she was blushing.
"It's not your fault," She stated to him blankly, "I'll see you at breakfast." She added in a whisper, swallowing. He could tell how terrified she was by the way her breathing had changed – it was erratic, shallow, and fast – and he knew that all the trust she had given him through last night had just disappeared within the last minute.
She scurried across the bedroom; grabbing her clothes and key card from the bathroom, escaping quickly and almost silently. He heard a sob from outside the door, and he sighed.
Nicki Boston was the most impossible woman he had ever known – just when he thought he had her figured out; just when they were getting close, he discovered something earth-shattering that threw everything into complete disarray.
But perhaps that was part of her attraction; the complexity of her character – knowing that he may be the only one who could get close to her – trying to figure her out.
-She sat on her bed; tears streaming silently down her face. She wished fervently that she could reverse what had just happened; wished they could go back to flirting shamelessly with each other with no strings attached. Secretly; she'd enjoyed falling asleep in his arms last night; waking up next to him with his strong arms holding her tight.
She hadn't been as scared when he'd seen her scar last night – it looked less ugly in the dark; less brutal. But when he looked at her in the mirror; the ugly red marks sprawled across her abdomen, flawing the otherwise smooth skin, she was sure that he'd never refer to her as beautiful again.
She'd never come to terms with the injuries on her body – everybody's reactions to them had taught her that they were something to be ashamed of. She knew that Tom hadn't been bothered by her scars last night; but she could just imagine the look of horror on his face, when he saw her war wounds.
She began to apply her makeup – foundation, blusher – not that she needed it – eyeliner, mascara, lip balm. The routine she went through every morning of every day; masking herself from the world, protecting herself.
She dressed in a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, adding a necklace on top of Tom's crimson t-shirt. It was warm outside – the sun was shining; reflecting off the river as she stood at her open window. She ducked under the frame; leaning against the iron railings that stood between her and falling to the road.
Suddenly a shout came from the window above; and a garment fell past her, catching on the railings of the window below. Leaning out of the window further; she realised that the garment was something that one was quite likely to discover in the very darkest corner of Ann Summers.
What was more worrying than the garment itself, however, was the fact that it had fallen from Grantly's window.
She looked across to her right and realised that Tom was staring back at her – with what was probably an excellent reflection of her expression upon his face – shock, incredulous amusement, and an excellent plan for blackmailing a certain Mr Budgen at the soonest opportunity forming inside both of their minds.
-I hope this is alright. Please review and I will do my best to reply! xxx