The Bane of Light

The Morning After

My chest constricted as I breathed frantically, my rib cage keeping my flailing lungs from fully expanding. I was too afraid to open my eyes. I was too afraid to see the reality of my situation. Instead, I felt around for my shadows, and their reassuring hum was the only thing that kept me from a full blown panic attack. My shadows were with me. They were here. I had my shadows. They became more clear, as the grogginess of sleep faded from my head.

'They wouldn't let anything happen to me. They wouldn't. They would keep me safe' I reassured myself, attempting to calm down. My shadows fizzled in agreement, attempting to reassure me. Why weren't they talking?

"Because Paris is here"  they whispered to me, and I finally managed to snap out of my paralyzed stupor. Motivated by shock, I found myself able to open my eyes, less terrified of what I would find in my bed now that I knew it was Paris. He reduced a degree of horror in the possible outcomes. My insides were still being contorted by sickness, but I knew It couldn't be that bad if Paris was here. He was Paris. He was Paris.

I opened my eyes to the searing light around me. A spell of dizziness hit my head as I lifted it up, observing my canopy. It was my bed, with my artificial stars enchanted into the inky material of my canopy curtains above. But there were no stars, their glowing light dimmed from the sunshine streaming into my room. Paris' golden head of curls was resting on my chest, his arms wrapped around my waist tightly. I lifted my head up, looking down at him, unsure on what to do. He was just laying there, under my weighted blanket but not under my bed sheets. That's why I couldn't move. He was laying on top of my blanket and keeping me restrained.

I groaned, collapsing back into my pillow. Relief flooded my system, a sickening cool washing out the suffocating heat in my body.  For the love of the everseeing, Paris. Must he always scare me? I never get a single second a peace around this boy. I inhaled deeply, a shuddering breath filling my chest. Crisp air circulated through my system, making me feel a slight bit better. And then I caught sight of my room. Clothes were hanging from my closet and armoire drawers. My trunk lid was wide open. The door to my bathroom was askew. He was wearing my skin care headband, the bow pushing back his hair and revealing his attractive forehead. He should slick his hair back more often, besides having his flop of curls cover them up.

I was jerked with the realization that I was admiring his forehead. Why the hell was I thinking about his hair, besides the fact that he trashed my room and he was WEARING MY CLOTHES? What the hell did he do to me? And then I noticed what I was wearing. I was wearing a t-shirt, my corset long gone. My underwear was still on, but it did nothing to relieve me of my anxiety.

Paris roused, and I completely froze. I listened as his rhythmic breathing became intermittent, informing that he was waking up. Paris mumbled incomprehensible words, his grip around my waist tightening. My skin felt hot around the contact. My shirt had risen up my thighs, revealing my underwear. I was thankful that my duvet covered me up to my chest. Paris must have arranged it like that.

Paris yawned, nuzzling his head against my chest, where his head was laying. I watched as his eyes blinked open, a misty sheen glazing his eyes as he came into awareness, the dreamworld's hold on him slipping away. The sunlight streaming through the room made his blonde eyelashes shine gold. They were ridiculously long and curled, as they fluttered open. He glanced up at me, blinking as if not believing the sight.

"Good morning, Eulalia" Paris told me, a wide smiling breaking out on his sleep-ridden face. His dimples made an appearance on his tan skin. He planted a kiss onto my upper arm, before dropping his head back down onto me and rearranging his grip.

"Paris" I said slowly, "Why are you in my bed?" My voice was scratchy and rough, from a full night of sleep. Paris' eyes widened. He observed our situation in a new found light: his arms around my waist, his head on chest, him in my bloody bed. He shot upright, his bed-head curls flying in all directions.