Page 15 of Light Up The Night
I do not own an alarm clock.
Where am I?
A new sound strikes my awareness—the rattle of a doorknob; a widening crease of light from a hallway beyond the door appears. In that opening looms a massive masculine figure, backlit into a brawny silhouette.
I hear myself cry out in alarm—the clanging clamor of the alarm slices through my brain, pounds violently upon my psyche like fists on soft flesh.
A male is approaching.
Danger! Danger!
Where am I?
The figure is a shadowy shape moving toward me, and I scrabble across the bed, reach the edge of it, and topple off onto the hardwood floor, which is cold beneath me. I watch the large figure—now partially illuminated by the light from the hallway. Bare male flesh wraps around hard, rippling muscle. The male is intensely fit, with low body fat and high muscle mass.
He does something to the alarm clock, and the awful noise is mercifully silenced. "Cadence?"
He knows my name?
I cannot move. Anxiety has my higher faculties short-circuited—I recognize my state, but I cannot do anything about it.
He rounds the foot of the bed, pauses, staring at me. "Hey, hey, hey. Cadence, try to breathe for me. Yeah? It was just my alarm going off. I forgot about it. I’m sorry. Are you okay?"
My head shakes—I am not okay. "Wh—wh—where—?"
The male approaches another three steps closer to me, and my body tightens into an even smaller ball. He reaches for something at the end of the bed—a quilt. He allows it to unfold, holding it up as he shifts closer to me. "I'm just gonna cover you, okay?" His voice is low and calm.
Soothing, somehow. My anxiety recedes a tiny amount.
Creeping cautiously closer, the man's eyes remain fixed with laser focus on mine, neither blinking nor wavering. The warm weight of the blanket settles on my shoulders.
"There," he murmurs, crouching before me. "I need you to breathe for me, Cadence. Take a breath in, like me. Ready?" He inhales sharply through his nose for four seconds. "Hold it and count to seven with me. One…two…three…" After seven, he murmurs again. "Now let it out slowly for eight. One…two…three…"
His eyes are such a pale shade of blue, they are nearly white, and shocking in their intensity. They mesmerize. Hypnotize. I breathe with him for three cycles; the breathing slows my panic, and his deep, strong, soothing voice calms my raging tumult of overwhelm.
I return to coherence gradually, and then all at once, Riley is sitting cross-legged on the floor before me, between the bed and the wall. The hardwood floor is cold beneath me, and I'm covered in the quilt.
I am naked beneath it.
"You…" I swallow, finding words difficult to summon, these words in particular. "You saw me. Nude."
"It was dark, and you were in a ball. I didn't see anything. I did my best to not look, Cadence. I swear." He rests a hand on my bent knee; my breath catches sharply at the contact, and he removes it instantly. "I'm so sorry about my alarm. Are you okay?"
One of the many curses of my mind is my memory. Even in the grip of panic, I forget nothing; I cannot. I remember the way he approached, carefully and cautiously. His eyes did not seek or search or scan, but remained locked on mine, and he shielded me from his sight with the blanket.
"I will be well," I manage. "Thank you for your assistance.” A pause. “And your…consideration for my modesty.”
"Can I help you up?" he asks.
My muscles have not yet received the internally circulated memo that the time for anxiety has passed.
"I…I cannot seem to move," I say. "I would be grateful for your further assistance."
He rises to a crouch, gathers the extra material of the quilt around me, and scoops me up in his arms—without touching my skin. He stands easily, lifting me as if I weigh nothing at all. He moves around the foot end and sets me on the bed where I hadbeen sleeping. He covers me with the comforter, holds it up near my chin, and deftly removes the quilt, draping it over top.
It is apparent that he is taking great pains to neither touch me inappropriately nor accidentally look at me in my nude state.
The care he is taking to show respect is touching. More so, perhaps, is the calm, compassionate, patient way he nurtured me through the anxiety attack.
