Melane

Chapter Twenty: Stormy Roads

~~~~~MELANE~~~~~

I wake up to my phone vibrating underneath my pillow and thunder. Great. Just what I wanted today. I get up slowly, stretching as I stand. Mark is laying face down in his pillow, his hair a black, staticky mop. Jack is facing him, his hands tucked under his pillow. I smile, thankful that someone can be here for him while I'm at work.

~~~~~~~~~~

When I walk through the door, Walter stops instructing Katy, his apprentice, how to use the cash register. He stares at me as I set my bag on a table. "Is my shift not today?"

"Is everything alright, Mel, dear? You never came back on Saturday. I assumed that meant..." His accent rings strong though his light voice.

"Oh..." I frown. "It's a miracle, really."

"What? What happened?"

"Excuse me," Katy bows her head and steps into the other room. She's such a sweetheart. At least, that's what Walter tells me.

"I don't know how, but, he's alive," I whisper.

"That guy you were with about a month ago? What was his name?"

"Sean," his real name slips off my tongue before I can think about it. "How did you know?"

"I could see it in his eyes, Mel. He was on a dark path. When you said that someone could be dead, I immediately called the ambulance and sent them to your address."

"Walter..." I sigh, walking over to him. "How did you know he lived with me?"

"Irish inkling?" He winks, sounding slightly proud of himself.

"You looked my address up, didn't you?" I smirk.

"Oh, nonsense- hey! Katy! You can go home, Mel's here!" He calls into the other room, ignoring my question.

I shake my head as I tie an apron around my waist.

~~~~~SEAN~~~~~

I wake up at eleven, facing Mark. I almost laugh at the sight of him. He looks like an electrified Ken Doll. Sometime during the night he had pulled his shirt off, and it's poking out from under his stomach. His sheet is tightly wrapped around his waist so I can't really tell if he's wearing pants or not, but I hope he is. Tiptoeing over him, I head into the kitchen. I frown when I notice the rain hitting the window. Being too lazy to cook some actual breakfast, I take the leftover pizza out of the fridge and set it on the stove; chewing on a piece as I turn on the coffee machine. As the first few drips start to percolate, I inhale, grinning widely. Nothing beats coffee. Except maybe cake.

I watch each drop fall, coffee cup in hand, and pour myself some as soon as there's enough. A few drops from the still brewing coffee plink onto the hot plate below, sizzling and burning, delighting my nostrils with a familiar scent. Lightning flashes, followed by thunder. From the living room, I hear a soft groan followed by the rustling of blankets and heavy footsteps. Mark appears in the doorway as I shove the pot back into place. "Hey Mar-" my voice cracks and I clear my throat quickly. "Hey, Mark." He's leaning against the doorframe, hair standing on end. Thankfully, he's still wearing his jeans. He squints at me, pulling on his bangs to smooth them down a little. He mumbles something unintelligible, making me laugh lightly. "What?"

"... Glasses?" He reiterates a bit louder. Jesus-fucking-Christ, his voice is deep as BALLS in the morning.

"Glasses?" I repeat. Is he asking where his glasses are? "Didn't you put them on the couch?" I leave my coffee on the counter, ease passed him, (he nearly fills the doorway,) and lean over the back of the couch. No glasses. I whip back around and almost collide with him.