25/07 -- the day i stay in his bed.
I AM ARMELLE. I SHALL STAY IN HIS BED.
Saturday morning was chilly, which wasn't unusual where I lived. It was seven thirty when I woke up, facing Michael's plaster while ceiling and a thick, round fly buzzing around the light bulb. It zipped next to me on the bedside table, and taking my arm out from beneath Michael's, I swatted it into the wall. It dropped down the side of the bed soundlessly and I smiled, turning around and feeling Michael's soft and naked chest. My finger grazed just over where his heartbeat jolted his skin -- only slightly. There was a place in the back which could be used to pierce someone's heart, I remember, running my hand across his spine. He felt so alive. I wouldn't miss it.
"Mm, having fun, there, Melle?" he asked, sleep heavy in his voice. His arm tightened around my waist, tugging me into his nightly musk and sweaty body. I pretended to not want to shrink away from his harsh smell. "You're up early."
"I can't sleep in."
"Why?"
"I always have things to do." I slid the covers off me, standing up in front of the window. I was exposed to the front garden, my naked body cold under the light breeze and my back contracting as I stretched. The curtains were rough along my hip line while I tied my hair up. "If I don't have plans, I make them."
He whined gently, throwing off the covers from my side of the bed and patting down the contours of my frame. I glared at him, and he smiled.
"Come back?" he asked. "Let's have no plans for today."
Although I should have said no and I already had my jeans halfway up my hips, his soft green eyes tugged at me. His head was buried halfway into his pillow, his hand still moving across the mattress. Reluctantly, I slipped back under the covers, feeling the warmth of them pooling around my legs and Michael's arm wrap around me instantly. I prevented myself from laughing and played with one of the woven bracelets adorning his veined wrist. It was rough and stringy. I looked up at him, at his parted lips, and my stomach frowned. This was the first time I've been so close to him and had no psychotic thoughts. Perhaps I should've tripped more often.
"I was up last night after you fell asleep," he told me.
I wanted for tell him I was, in fact, wide awake. I heard him sit up in bed behind me and I did feel him poke my shoulder with the tip of his finger. I made sure not to stir, though.
"You were?" I asked.
"Yeah." He shifted around until he could hang an arm off the side of his bed lazily. It brushed the hairs of his carpet. "I was writing."
"Oh?"
"Poetry, specifically."
Twisting around, I lied down on top of his pale chest. His hands moved to the small of my back and rubbed circles into my achy spine. I moaned softly, arching my back into his grasp and kissing his jaw. Thinking about it, I'd miss the lingering smell of chocolates underneath his neck, and the calluses adorning his fingers like rings.
"Could you read some of it for me?" I said.
He murmured, sleepy and gentle and grabbing for my hands. His were cold, his palms gripping mine with excitement I was much too tired to requit. His heart was beating slowly against my arm, steady like the rhythm of a metronome ticking along the seconds. I didn't want it to stop.
"You'll laugh at me." He pushed his lank fringe from his forehead. "And, there are some things that nobody should know about."
Should and should not were out of the way. He was hiding something from me, and I was more than prepared to dig whatever he's abandoned back up.
