Reminisce #Repost

Chapter 7

Cassandra
Miguel must have gotten home sometime in the early hours of the morning because when I woke at daylight, his arms were draped around me, and his body was pressed to mine, with his breathing heavy against my ear. And I'm surprised I slept at all since my mind was so infiltrated with thoughts of Eden.

Now it's almost noon. Both Miguel and I are seated at the dining table with identical dishes of omelet, toast, and orange juice.

I watch him bite off a piece from a slice of crispy brown toast. His mouth moves about munching, the only audible sound around us. The movement of his jaws makes me stare, then note that his face is clean shaved. His shadowed cheeks and jaw are the only evidence of the perfect ten day stubble he was previously spotting. His hair, the color of night shadows, is slicked back across his scalp.

There is no debate over his attractiveness. On his good days he can be caring, loving and affectionate; he can be the man of every woman's dreams. But that's a from-afar-assumption.

His current appearance leads me to a conclusion, one that has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. He's about to go on a business trip, and I'll be left alone for who knows how many consecutive days. My lips pull into a frown and I look away from him, swerving once again in my seat. The prospects of loneliness and restrictions causes me to sigh.

"What's wrong?" His question barely pulls me out from my chains of thoughts.

"Nothing's wrong," I mumble.

"Then why do you have that face?"

Although I'm sure I have one on, it's my down-in-the-gutter face, I still go, "What face?"

"Cassandra." He rarely ever says my name; but when he does, it's as a warning.

I give him what he wants. "I'll miss you while you're gone on one of your many business trips."

"I'll only be gone for five days, baby," he says. "You know I'll miss you, too."

I don't want the wheels of our conversation to stop rolling, so I say, "Do you think I could invite Winnie over? She's a co-worker from the club."

He bites off another piece from the same--or a different slice of toast. His mouth goes about mashing, the sound identical to the crunch of bones.

I sit up, and the prospects of him considering makes me bounce my legs and tap my fingers on the glass table.

He stops chewing, then says, "no."

"No?" I slouch, and my legs no longer bounce, or fingers tap. "Why?"

"We've had this conversation times without number, and my answer remains the same. Security reasons. You've got to be security cautious with the business I run."

"Okay, what if I go over to her place. You can have your whole body guards keep watch if that makes you feel any better. She's worked for you just as long as I have. Maybe you know her well enough. She's been really nice to me, and she could be a potential friend. Honestly, it's just better than staying home most of the day-"

"Cassandra." It's two warnings in less than five minutes.

I shouldn't push it. I know I shouldn't push it. I still push it. "C'mon Miguel, please. She doesn't have to come over. I could go to her place. Three days at most. I just can't keep up with this routine of anti socialism."

"You're not going anywhere in my absence. It's for your own good. I'm just trying to protect you, and I've said this from the onset."

I stand up, pick a slice of toast and my still full glass of orange juice.