Caramel Latte & Coffee Black (A Norman Reedus Love Story)

18 | Decision To Be Made

Holy Moses it took me a while to get rid of my writer's block. Sorry if I kept you guys on the edge and waiting. And because of things and March and all kinds of feels, this is about feels too. 

All new people following me; hiya! And all those votes and reads; much obliged! Thank you so much all my Lovelies! 

And to my Sweetie, @Rezzalia, who helped me again, thank you! 

Jae’s POV

I woke up groggily when I felt the bed shift, and Norman’s arm slammed kind of roughly against my stomach. He was splayed on the bed on his stomach, his head resting on the mattress without a pillow, his hair sticking to his eyelashes, falling in front of his face. His heavy arm rested on my stomach still, and I let my own fingers slowly run over the skin of his forearm, watching the hair on it slowly stir and goose bumps forming in the wake of my touch. He stirred, but then he sighed deep, contently and resumed to snore softly.

     I shifted, onto my left side, and softly brushed his hair back from his beautifully relaxed face. I nearly cried when my chest tightened at the feeling of happiness I suddenly experienced when I saw him just laying there, sleeping soundly. I took his hand, and laced my fingers with his, smiling a little as I scooted closer, resting my cheek against his shoulder.

     “Mmhmm, Jae?” I heard him murmur as he stirred, making me look up at him.

     “I’m here,” my reply was soft, and I smiled, but then, it hit me. I remembered that it was Sunday. The day that I would actually have to pack up and leave, because come Monday he would have to go to work bright eyed and bushy tailed like a squirrel he was.

     When I turned to look at him, hoping that I could say something to him about the day, I noticed he’d fallen asleep again.

     My sleeping Squirrel, I bit my bottom lip in order not to giggle out loud at the imagery, but just one look at his sleeping face made me almost tear up. The week had gone too fast. My skin crawled from the feeling of leaving, because I still felt every single touch and kiss on me, and it was too much.

     Sitting up, I slowly moved his arm from my waist, and unlaced my fingers with his, crunching the sheet in my lap before I pushed it aside, and climbed off the bed very carefully. An involuntary shiver ran through me when I watched Norman still asleep on the bed, sheet covering him from waist down, seeing how relaxed he was now. He deserved this, and so much more.

     My bare feet felt sticky against the dark wooden floor of the bedroom, as I quietly padded my way to his closet to raid it for something to wear, because I didn’t feel like going to the guest bedroom to find my bag. Since Wednesday we had been all wrapped up in each other, in our little world without any disturbances, and I hadn’t even seen my bag since then.

     He didn’t mind me not wearing a ton of makeup which I was almost painfully thankful for and for reasons I couldn’t even begin to comprehend right now it felt good to be able to be just myself in front of him. It was almost dangerously too good.

     As I kept rummaging through his closet, I couldn’t help but think where this would head to. Stopping for a second to swallow that horrible lump in my throat, I knew I had given way too much of myself to him and my brick wall, the protection of it, was now beyond repair when it came to him. I clutched the shelf full of clothes, and chewed my bottom lip. I cursed inwardly, willing myself not to start crying, but it wasn’t easy.

     It took me several minutes to force myself to calm down, before I could return to the search of something to wear. I found one of his old tee shirts, and pulled it over my head, wiggling it on me. I saw my reflection off the full length mirror that rested against the wall next to the bed, and chuckled at it a little bit. Fiddling the hem of Norman’s shirt that I had unabashedly stolen from his closet, I tiptoed my way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The shirt was one of those old band shirts he loved to wear, tattered and stretched to an almost shapeless and sleeveless mess of fabric, that hung off my shoulders seductively, but it was much too comfortable not to wear. I didn’t bother with panties, but since the shirt reached nearly all the way down to my knees I figured I didn’t need them. I was also disturbingly thankful that we had the house all to ourselves, even though I wasn’t uncomfortable to wearing such a skimpy ensemble of - - a shirt.