Page 30 of Indigo

I know the feeling.

I carry her carefully down the steps and across the yard to my house, pushing open the front door, which is thankfully slightly ajar, so I didn’t have to juggle both Indie and the keys at once.

This place is nothing special. Single story, open plan, two bedrooms and a study. I polished the floorboards recently, painted the walls white instead of the weird pastel green they were when I bought it, and Jagger did his best to decorate to make it not feel so ‘empty.’

I like empty. It’s cleaner. Neater. But I didn’t bother complaining. He still would have brought weird shit like the abstract painting hanging on the wall to my left, even if I’d told him not to.

Jagger comes out of the kitchen when he hears me walk in, in a pair of black sweats, and a spoon full of what I assume is peanut butter, hanging out of his mouth. His eyes bulge when he looks at the sleeping woman in my arms. His brows furrow and he nods toward her, keeping his voice low. “She alright?”

Not wanting to wake her, I nod and whisper back, “Yeah, she’s fine, just knackered. Paisley is asleep on her living room floor. Go grab her? I’m going to chuck Indie in my bed. Put Paisley in next to her, and then I need your help to finish the furniture.”

Jagger nods, puts down the now clean spoon on the dining room table, and jogs past me, out the front door.

I creep through the house and lay Indie down on my bed, manoeuvring my black quilt from underneath her to wrap her in warmth.

She lets out a sleepy moan and nuzzles into my pillow, looking like something I’d fucking dreamt up. I place a gentle kiss on her forehead, letting her scent surround me before standing just as Jagger walks in with Paisley.

“Let’s do it,” I say, nodding to the door once he’s placed her down beside Indie.

???

I assumed it’d be an all-nighter, and I was right. By the time we’ve finished setting everything up and wiping it down, the sun is peaking through the windows.

“Can’t believe you got her all this shit, bro,” Jagger says as he leans down to pick up the last of the plastic wrapping off the floor.

“She needed it,” I reply, wiping down the TV cabinet again with a wet cloth I found in the kitchen.

It’s not enough, and most of it is white ‘cos it was the easiest to get my hands on. I’m sure she’ll want more, want to add more colour, more character to the place if she plans to live here long term, but at least now she’s got a dining table and chairs, a TV cabinet, coffee table, bedframe, chest of drawers and a couple bedside tables. I also picked up a shoe rack for the front door, and a couple of side tables for her to set up next to the couch we dragged in here.

The thing may be ugly as shit, and about seven different colours, but it was one of the first things Jag and I got for our new place when we moved in, and it’s damn comfy. Only reason we got a new one was ‘cos Jagger complained about it looking out of place for so long that I snapped, went out and spent a fucking fortune on a dark grey cinema style sofa that reclines and bloody vibrates.

As I move over to dust off the coffee table, I spot a stray box, half hidden by the couch. “The desk,” I say, more to myself than Jagger, but it still forces a groan from him.

“Please let me sleep,” he pleads. “I can’t be whipping up desks at 6am, bro.”

I wave to the door and laugh, “Go. Sleep. Appreciate you.”

He salutes me with a relieved sigh and drags his feet across the floor dramatically as he leaves.

“Indie,” I hear him say from outside in greeting, and I turn my head just as she walks through the front door, looking half asleep.

Her eyes go wide as she scans the room, and I find it hard to keep myself in check when I realise she’s wearing my black Shep Auto t-shirt. The woman couldn’t look bad if she tried, but standing in front of me now, wearing my clothes like she’s fucking mine, her hair a mess and her face free of any makeup, I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

“You…”

“You girls did a good job,” I rush out, louder than I intended. “Just finished it all off and cleaned up a little for you.” She remains silent, her eyes still wandering around the living room. “Do you like it?” I ask, holding my breath, waiting for her to cuss me out for furnishing her house like I know she wanted to earlier, but instead, her eyes turn glassy and as she blinks, a single tear streams down her cheek, making my heart ache. “Shit, Blue, I’m sorry, I thought–”

Before I can get the apology out, she races across the room and throws herself at me. Her arms go around my waist and she buries her head against my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispers against my filthy t-shirt, sniffling a little.

My muscles relax, soaking in the feel of her against me. “No big deal,” I say, raising my hand to cradle the back of her head.

She snorts against my chest. “I’ve missed you,” she admits, stealing the breath from my lungs. “You’re an ass for buying all this shit, but I love it.”

“Missed you,” I reply, holding her head firmly against me, not wanting to let her go. She has no idea how true those words are. How much I’ve missed her. Missed this.

“I’m paying you back for all of it, too. You better have receipts.”

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