She wasn’t ready to open her eyes. She wasn’t ready to be.  Here. Right now. Opening her eyes meant she had to be in this moment and process it for what it was. Why did she have to open her eyes? Why couldn’t she just lay here in the dark and just feel… nothing. Nothing. It sounded perfect, it sounded simple. It was simple. She wanted to be selfish in that need to feel empty; that need to feel nothing. Such a feeling could only be made possible if her senses were in tune with her emotions. They weren’t. Feeling nothing emotionally was a possibility she could reach out and claim but in physicality it was a lie.

As much as she wanted to she couldn’t ignore the warm body beneath her. She could neither ignore the arm belonged to this body and how it was securely wrapped around her. And connected to that arm was a hand currently stroking the back of her neck. All these signs led to the conclusion that he was awake, fully conscious and lying in wait for her to join his world of awareness. Before she could begin an internal argument of whether to pretend to be sleeping his voice interrupted her thoughts.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

She stays silent, knowing that a reply would force her to be aware of him and his reasons for being there. She wasn’t ready to go back and answer the why’s, how’s, and when’s of his presence. She wasn’t ready for her brain to make those connections and send responses for her heart to hurt. If it did those emotions would spill forth to only leave her drowning. Being reminded of the events that transpired within the last 24 hours wasn’t something she was ready for. Not yet. But how is this, his body beneath her not a reminder? She can feel the tension in his arm, ready to tighten at any sudden movement from her as if communicating ‘escape is futile’. His hand; flat, so his palm can grasp the base of her neck sends heat waves of reassurance. His fingers; bent, moving side to side like a pendulum lulling her into a state of mysterious comfort. She knows that if he were to stop she would wake from this docile state he’d put her in and lash out like a wild animal. His ministrations do not stop. He must know too.

She feels him heave in a deep breath and slowly exhale out, she wonders if his patience is running thin.

“Andromeda, do you want me to go?” Pause. “Tell me what you want.” Another pause. Then his voice changes, almost defeated, he manages to get out, “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

His fingers begin to slow as if coming to the realization that his actions are inappropriate. That being in this bed with her so close, hard to tell where one begins and the other ends, is wrong. Even though in her sleep she clings to him, seeking something that she wasn’t ready to take but he was more than willing to give.

‘This is wrong’ he thinks. ‘What the hell am I doing?’

He was forcing himself into her life. Forcing her to open up to him. Forcing her to react to him, to acknowledge him. This wasn’t fair to her. He had no right to barge in and expect so much from her. He knows now this has to stop. He has to give up. Give up on constantly imposing himself on her just to get her to open up to him again. Give up on trying to save her from herself. He should just leave.

She can feel his fingers slowing. Feel his heat leaving her, the comfort slowly dissipating away. She knows that if he stops now, she’ll lose this, she’ll lose him. Before that loss can happen she shifts above him bringing her flattened hand into a loose fist and clutches his t-shirt. His fingers on the base of her neck abandon their light stroking and softly dig into her skin. They are both clinging to each other; both not ready to let go.

Still not ready to open her eyes but ready to acknowledge him she angles her head. With her lips lightly grazing his jaw and the coarse stubble she whispers. “I want you to stay”.

A deafening silence fills the room that seems to extend every second into prolonged minutes. Both parties living in a moment of suspension high above themselves. It’s as if they’ve been cast into the air and just before the descent they both experience a moment where everything stops, right before the fall. Suspension. She’s waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, waiting for him to cut through the silence and say something, anything. What she doesn’t expect is he shifting their bodies so she’s lying beneath him. To feel his body in such close proximity to hers shouldn’t be surprising since she’s been entangled with him all night. No, it’s the way his left leg has slipped in between her thighs leaving his jean-clad hips perpendicular to hers. Even though they are both fully clothed she can feel his heat radiating through her. It sinks into her camisole and her leggings almost scorching her. She wonders if he knows how warm he is. How his heat is affecting her or what it’s doing to her right now.

She can feel his hand slide from the back of her neck to her cheek letting his thumb rest at the corner of her mouth. She feels his breath on her face; its warm and she can even find comfort in it. She wants to open her mouth so she can breathe his air. Breathe in his life, so warm and inviting. Maybe if she does it will invigorate her own and turn her back into the woman she was before.

‘Before’ she thinks. ‘Before…no’. she stops.

She doesn’t want to think of before, she doesn’t want to think of him; not now. Especially now, while there’s another in his place holding a soothing warm hand to her face. This man is real, tangible, he’s here.

She hasn’t dared opening her eyes yet. She’s about to until she hears him speak.

“Andromeda”

The way he says her name makes her breath hitch. It’s like a ghostly caress that passes through her body and right before it retracts a lingering finger strokes her heart. It hurts. She’d never thought she could experience heartache just by the sound of another’s voice, but she has. He just made that possible.

She could swear he was still speaking but it’s the effect his voice has on her. Who was she kidding; it has always had an effect on her. Whether it was a friendly conversation or an innuendo he’d make whenever he would hit on her, his voice had that lingering effect. His dark husky tone, so rich that you swore it left a slight echo in the air, left women immensely intrigued by him and wanting. As much as she hated to admit it, but right now, it left her wanting. Yes, she wanted more of his sound but she was finding that she wanted more of him in general. The only way to do that, to have more of him, was to open her eyes. It was time to open her eyes.

As her eyes slowly adjust to the light in the room she can make out the overgrown stubble on his chin. It’s grown past his usual 5 o’clock phase and she finds herself liking it. It suits him, makes him look more dark and mysterious. Her eyes then find his lips. Lips that are perfectly arched into a cupids bow are slightly parted to show two white teeth with another part down the middle. It makes her want to smile at how boyish it makes him look when he’s anything but. Her almond eyes slowly rake up his face passing his nose and the indent from breaking it; a story he’d told her which involved a bike, a pissed of neighbor, and a lot of laughing. Up and up her eyes go until they reach his own. When their eyes lock she notices him squint as if he’s trying to see past her eyes and into her mind, delving into the thoughts she holds as secrets. His cerulean eyes take on a hint of green and it’s almost like she’s looking at the world, two colors converging to make a world of their own.

She thinks he has the world in his eyes. It almost makes her laugh at how cheesy that sounds, thinking of him this way, but its true. The world.

Never breaking eye contact with her he takes his thumb and he slowly swipes it across her lips. It’s such a slow sensual movement she knows he’s telling her something without having to speak. She knows what he means to say, what the action implies. It’s telling her to ‘say it again’. The intent is clear. He wants her to say it again, no; he needs her to say it again.

Still looking into his eyes she opens her lips she can still feel the lingering heat of his thumb. It’s cast a spell on her preparing the words to tumble from them. His breathing has stopped, his eyes still locked on hers. He hears her intake of breath and it’s only then he looks down to her lips, waiting for proof; proof that she needs him, wants him. He wont be able to breathe until she says it.

She’s ready now, ready to further open her eyes, ready to feel, ready to reach for the world knowing it will reach back. Ready to ‘say it again’. She opens her mouth a little more and on a breathy whisper the words flow straight through him. To him her words are like a caress, a caress he’s been longing for.

“I want you to stay.”

He looks back into her eyes, and he breathes.