13/08 - the day i can't sleep
I AM ARMELLE. I CAN'T SLEEP.
The clock. It was too loud. I couldn't move. Tick, tick, tick.
Sleep paralysis was always a bitch, but I was strangely used to it. The statued body, the racing mind. It was being trapped inside yourself and yet seeing everything along your shell. The window cracked ajar. The curtains shivering in the wind. The door shut tight with a stream of light pouring through the gap between itself and the carpet. It was haunting, haunting to have the nightmares that terrified you half to death mixing with the bedroom you wake up in through the mornings.
I inhaled, feeling the mattress depress as Michael rolled over and pressed the curve of his nose into my shoulder. I lifted a hand, although it was heavy and nearly fell back onto the bed, but I managed to pick myself up and sit with my knees tucked under my chin. My head droned out of fatigue, and I almost fall back asleep, until I feel a palm slide up my spine. Turning around, I meet Michael's gaze. His lips were red and pouted, his eyes lowered onto mine with sleep flooding his gaze. His palm moved to my stomach, cradling the dip of my waist, then the gentle slope of my breast.
"Tired," I said softly, catching his wrist and setting it back onto the mattress. He persisted at my arm, trying to tug me back to sleep. "Tomorrow morning?"
He nodded, pulling at me again until I slipped back under the duvet. It brushed my jaw, covering both of us as he holds me against his stomach, which rises and falls with every breath. He kissed the apple of my cheek with clumsy coordination, and mumbled, "I love you."
It was absolute, and hung in the air like a sword. I pretended to be asleep; I slowed my breaths and counted my heartbeat, until he stilled behind me, too.
