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HONORA WAS WARM, light, as she woke up in the early hours of the morning. She lay in bed, eyes closed, as the birds outside chirped so loud the sounds pierced through the glazed windows. The golden sunrise stabbed through the trees in the front yard, falling and sliding upon the messy floor of her bedroom. She wanted to open her eyes to take in the beauty of a calm morning, but the mattress beneath her was just too comfortable. She smiled to herself, letting her shoulders relax into the material of her blanket as she shuffled closer to her pillow. But then she froze.
She furrowed her brows, still not daring to open her eyes. Her lips parted in thought, mind swirling, as she shifted again. Heaviness. On her waist. She froze once more. Her eyes flew open.
It all came back to her like a bus slamming into her pleading body. The kiss, plural. The hug, the mess, the surgery, the convincing, the walk home, the hand in hers, the bed. The hushed whispers as they crept through the hallways of her house. The silent staring at each other in bed. The thinking, the knowing, yet not doing anything at all. The close of her eyes. The hand on her waist. It all came back.
She tensed for a moment. Would he regret it? His breath blew against the back of her bare neck like a gentle kiss of the wind. Would he run out and pack his bags, never to be seen again? His touch on her waist twitched before tightening, pulling her closer to his body. She squeezed her eyes shut. Would it ruin everything they'd built?
But then she realised how desperately she wanted to turn around. She wanted to stare at his blond, tousled hair and run her fingers through it until every strand fell out. She wanted to kiss his cheeks and forehead and nose and lips until she had no energy left to move her fingers. She wanted, with everything inside of her, to grab his hand and run away to a place where nobody would care. But she didn't, because if she moved, his hand on her waist would fall against the mattress and she'd go cold.
