Ebony Wings

22

~Ali~

I wake up slowly, my senses returning to my body one at a time. The foamy fragrance of pomegranates drifts through my nose, the first sense to reawaken. I spread my arms above my head and arch my back, bones popping satisfactorily into place. The warm duvet is scratchy and cheap under my fingertips.

For the life of me, I cannot remember any of the events that followed the flight. Embarrassment flares at the thought of having fallen asleep so deeply, carried here and put to bed by Ethan without my ever knowing. 

Yet after a restful and uninterrupted sleep, energy laces my muscles again, clarity sharpening my  thoughts in a way that I hadn't realised I was previously lacking.

My eyes spring open, clear as the mountain water, watching the venetian blinds slice sharp lines across the outdated decor of the room. Pale green paint blocks out the walls, the small space dominated by the iron bed (clothed in peach coloured, floral bedding) and a free-standing cabinet, its door slightly open. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the covers spilling onto the patterned carpet, the colours having faded with years of sunlight and ware. 

A soft hiss rumbles around the room, steam curling under a door to my left. I push myself to a stand and touch the open door of the cabinet. It swings feebly on its hinges. Piled neatly on the middle shelf sits a freshly folded stack of clothing and my name scrawled across a business card balanced on the top. 

Without protest, I slip out of yesterday's clothes and shimmy into the ripped boyfriend jeans awaiting me. A little big, the exaggerated rips hanging loose, but comfortable. I peel out of my shirt and silently thank whoever gathered this for the clean singlet and dark green, knitted jumper. Finally, a pair of well worn, second-hand canvas shoes are placed tidily at the bottom. As I pull the laces tight and strap my left shoe closed, a handle squeaks and the water shuts off. 

Ethan strolls out of the bathroom moments later, steam gushing from the room behind him, bringing with it the sharp scent of pomegranates. Wrapped in nothing but a low hanging towel, not much is left to the imagination - whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is an entirely separate line of thought, and one that I do not wish to indulge myself in anytime soon. 

When his azure gaze grasps my own, a smile breaks across his face at the aight of me awake and dressed. This projected smile is promptly followed by all my subsequent cranial activity ceasing at the sight. When my sedimented focus remains fixated on him, his glassy gaze turns turbulent with antagonistic emotions - too many for me to decipher in succession as they pass his eyes. But the intensity of his hold on me is indisputable. For a moment, I forget why I am crouched on the floor with my fingers in knots around my laces. 

He takes a long stride forwards, his gait intrepid. My accelerating heart rate has nothing to do with the possibility of failure on our mission and everything to do with the oppressed nature of my desires. 

I break the tension and throw my gaze out of the window, feigning utter interest in the movements of the outside world. He reads my evasion attempts like I am a children's picture book - of course he does, he is Ethan and this is me. 

With a gentle touch, he reorients my face so he holds the gaze I was afraid to give him. The heat in his watching is the only warning of the inferno that could ensue. I push my shaky legs into a stand and lean against the cabinet. 

His head dips, just barely, and I mortifyingly find mine doing the same in the opposite direction. And then something shifts in the air between us and Ethan has his eyes sealed tightly shut. He drags in a deep breath, I force myself to do the same, and when his eyes reopen, they have returned to their clarity and simplicity. He reaches his hand behind me and pulls out a small pile of clothes similar to my own. He promptly returns to the bathroom.