Page 61 of Glass Half Full
One side of his mouth pulls up into a grin. “So fucking sassy.”
Then he grabs my face and kisses me again, so hard I forget how to breathe.
Sixteen
Renee
NOCTURNE: A poem set at night
“So,this is me. Welcome to my humble abode.”
Dylan flips on the entryway light. The kitchen is off to the right, and the glow from the entrance reveals a shadowy outline of the living room beyond.
“It’s very clean in here,” I observe after kicking my shoes off and taking the few steps to the centre of the room.
It’s very clean? Really, Renee?
“I don’t know why I said that,” I admit. “I mean not that it isn’t clean. I just don’t know why I felt the need to tell you that. Also it’s not that I didn’t think it would be clean, but it’s um, it’s nice. It’s very nice in here.”
Dylan follows after me, a grin taking over his face.
“Oh yeah?” he says softly, reaching to clasp my hands in his. “That’s the opinion you’ve formed of my darkened apartment? That it’s very clean and nice?”
“Uh, yeah.”
He chuckles.
I don’t know where my awkwardness is coming from. The walk over here was anything but. We were practically racing each other up the sidewalk, stopping every few seconds to kiss and breaking apart to catch our breath only to take off tearing up the sidewalk again. He kissed me so hard in his building’s stairwell I was about ready to start tearing my clothes off there and then.
We’re here now. We’ve reached the actual tearing off clothes point, and suddenly I’m hesitating.
“Hey.” Dylan calls my attention back to him. “You okay?”
He’s still holding my hands with each of his. He brings one up to his lips, and my breath catches in my throat as he places a soft, slow kiss on each of my knuckles. We’re standing in the dark, but I can make out enough to register the tenderness on his face, the patience. I’ve never felt this much trust in someone before. The only thing he’s concerned with is making me feel safe.
That’s all it takes to have me craving him with even more intensity than I’ve felt all night.
“Take me to bed,” I whisper, and I don’t wonder if it’s the right thing to say. I don’t get embarrassed. I don’t start doubting myself.
I just follow after him as he leads the way.
The lamp on his bedside table casts a soft orange glow over the room when he switches it on. I’m standing at the foot of his bed, and I can feel his eyes on me as I take in the contents of his room.
“Whoops. I didn’t make the bed. Not so nice and clean in here, is it?”
He’s trying to sound teasing, but I hear the slight tremor in his voice. I feel that tremor echo all through my body.
“Tsk, tsk,” I chide, keeping the joke going. I don’t trust myself to say actual words.
The room is simple, with just a bed, table, and dresser. All the furniture is black. There are a few photos on the wall, but I can’t focus on the images long enough to process them before my eyes fall back to the bed. His sheets are dark blue, a tartan blanket thrown over them, and even standing here, I can tell they still smell like him. When I wake up here tomorrow morning—if I wake up here tomorrow morning—I’ll smell like him too.
The mattress sags slightly when Dylan settles himself on the edge of the bed. I meet his eyes.
I take a breath.
I lift my shirt over my head.
“Fucking hell,” he curses.
