Page 68 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
She pulled her hands up inside the sleeves, and used the corners to wipe her eyes, her cheeks, head still down, until they dropped, mascara-stained to her sides.
“I’ve got your hot drink in the living room, if you want to come sit down?”
A silent nod, and she followed him quietly, small little steps, shadowing his. Her hand reached out instinctively, and she felt him look behind to where she held onto the back of his shirt. Her sudden loosening of her hand and a step back placated with a smile and a nod of approval, before she held on again. And then they were in the living room, and he was curling around her. Arms enveloping, warming, protecting. The aforementioned drink in a mug so big that she cupped it in her hands like a bowl. Small sips. Small breaths. Her world slowly righting itself.
She’d never really found comfort in silence before. Bustling sounds and chatter kept her busy, kept her thoughts distracted, kept her from overthinking and reliving again and again, but this was comfortable. That comfortable silence that she’d read about in books. She put the mug carefully on the coffee table, leaned back, snuggling in, and sighed as his hand tentatively touched her hair. Gentle strokes that calmed her and made her want to lose herself in his quiet, in his gentle touch.
She didn’t realise that she’d fallen asleep until she awoke suddenly, jerking upwards, disorientated and confused.
“What–? Where–?” and then as realisation hit, apologies tumbling over each other in a waterfall of sorries, the words barely able to keep up with her racing thoughts, a jumble of panicky self-recrimination. You idiot. He must think that you’re pathetic, you’re–
“It’s okay.” His hand beneath her chin, lifting it ’til she met blue depths. “It’s fine.” They weren’t just words; he really didn’t mind.
Then he grinned suddenly, adding teasingly, “You make cute little snuffly snores when you sleep.”
She reddened, hiding her face in his shoulder in embarrassment, even whilst she was grateful for his lightening of the mood. “Oh hush up.” He hugged her close and she found the courage to whisper, “Is it still raining?”
It was later than she’d hoped, but it was also still apparently storming, and the look on her face must have caused him some consternation because he said abruptly, “You can stay here tonight, if you like. I’m sure the storm will be gone by morning.”
She looked at him sideways, and he shook his head, “You know I didn’t mean it like that, but I’d rather you stayed than left if it’s going to upset you.”
A slow nod. “That would be…good. I’m sorry about all this, it’s just…”
“You don’t have to explain, no apologies. It’s fine, I promise. Now, I’m thinking leftover pasta and Netflix. There’s an animated space series that I think you’re going to love.”
It was, she realised as he went to set everything up, his way of caring. Little tactile displays of affection that made him move with purpose. He wanted her to lean on him, to trust him.
“I was in an accident.”
The bustle stopped and he came and sat down next to her, even as she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do anything other than fiddle with the hem of the hoodie and blurt out words that made her want to curl up and hide. “There was a storm. An accident. And we’re all fine now. No longer term. Injuries but still. I. I. I don’t like driving in storms. Not that it was me who was driving in the first place and I guess that means that I should be fine with driving in storms now and I can’t and I just couldn’t sit in the car and wait it out because when it hits the windshield like that over and over and over I just–”
His arms again. Round her again. Comforting her again. “Shh. It’s okay, petal. You don’t have to talk about it; you’re here with me, and I’ll keep you safe.”
For some reason, after that, she felt less awkward, a little more like herself again. Comfortable enough to snort with laughter when a sentient spaceship repeatedly denied a dorky character a chocolate chip cookie, and comfortable enough to flick pasta sauce at him when he tickled her to make her laugh some more. And she’d never been quite so grateful for streaming services’ enabling of binge-watching; they worked their way through more than a few episodes, curled up on the sofa together, until her head kept dropping and she was fighting to keep her eyes open.
“Time for bed?”
She nodded, all of a sudden, feeling a little reticent, and he smiled gently at her concern, his hands cupping her face for a kiss. “I’ll need to grab spare bedding so that I can bunk down on the sofa here, but after that, my bedroom’s all yours. And I have a huge duvet that you can cocoon yourself in if you need to.”
There was a pang of sadness as she realised that actually, she really wouldn’t mind him curled up round her, under said duvet, but he was right. This was probably for the best.
So instead she followed him down the corridor to where a large king-sized bed waited for her. One so large that she thought she could get lost in its depths. She perched on the edge of the bed as he got the linen he needed for his own repose, as well as a spare towel for her, pointing out where she could charge her phone and where the switch for the lamp on the bedside table was. Some laughter. A long look that had her flushing, and then a gentle kiss that was as intense as it was tender. As he went to move away, she found her body following him, led by her lips back to his for another.
“Good night, petal.” He whispered the words and she whispered “Good night” back, and sat there, teetering on the edge of calling him back as he left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
Settling beneath the covers, the bed seemed unnaturally large. Too large to settle in the middle, with each side leagues away. Instead she set up on the starboard, glasses folded on the bedside table and light on for some reading before she slept. She might have been sleepy earlier, but now? Now she was far too awake to sleep. Every inch of her longed for his arms, for his touch, for his kisses, and the only way she was going to be able to distract herself, was to read a little before bed. Lose herself in a different world until she was too tired to focus on the words on her phone screen.
It might have helped if she hadn’t been reading a paranormal romance, all turbulent shifters and hot sex, but even the world building wasn’t enough to divert her attention from where she could still feel his lips on hers, the shadow of his touch on her breasts. She toyed with the idea of touching herself, of casting her ebook to one side and letting that tight control unfurl from her as she lost herself in thoughts of him. But she was in his bed, and that seemed a little unfair.
She could go to him.
She could ask him to come and sleep with her, even if actual sleep was all that they did.
Her face flushed at the idea of it. The idea of going and asking for what she wanted. What she needed. It seemed unlikely, she realised, that he’d find that abrasive. He’d liked it earlier when she’d asked him oh so politely if he could touch her. And even if he said no, she didn’t think that it would be awkward.
Momentarily emboldened, she slipped out of bed and hurried to the door before she could lose her nerve and change her mind. But as she approached the door to the living room, she paused, suddenly shy.
One step. Two. And then she peeped round the doorframe.
