When Clyde Parker, the wayward son and the rotten-apple of the Parker family-tree, storms his way back into Avery Fields, he sets out a flurry of butterfly effect in Dawn Marshal's life.
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SHE COULD HEAR THE rustling of sheets being shifted, his impatient groans as he tossed and turned and then flipped his hair, throwing his head back onto the pillow.
Outside, the drizzle was pattering on the rooftop-drip, drop, drip drop. She sighed, stretching her limbs sluggishly and fixed her foggy glasses on the digital clock, 4:45 it read.
She knew her AP American history presentation on the Great Depression was going to be a bummer for her lack of sleep and the abundance of coffee in her system the next morning. Being heavily insomniac didn't help either.
"Clyde..." she hissed but he wouldn't stir out of his slumber, "Clyde!"
"Wha-!" He jolted awake, the quilt sprawled over the bottom-half of his body. Hugging the pillow to his chest like a shield, he gasped in a girly tone, "Where's the fire?!"
"Hush you, do you intend to wake up the whole neighborhood?" She glared at him, "Do you know that caffeine inhibits the absorption of iron in the body and thus, causing iron deficiency anemia?"
He raised one of his eyebrows and tilted his head trying to process her words. "I can't function with too much caffeine in my system, I tend to get jittery and provocative, so can you not?"
"I wasn't meaning to, it's just that the couch is too small for me..." he smiled sheepishly.
"Oh you mean you are too big for it," her eyes were glinting with humor.
"Oh puhleasee I am a growing boy."
She scooted to the other side and made a lining of pillows and cushions, a boundary not to be crossed. A glimmer of a grin appeared on his lips as he grabbed his pillow and slithered under the sheets beside her.
"Pretend this is the boundary of the Nazi boot camp and if you cross it I will do worse things than shooting you to death!"
"Speak for yourself, bet you can't wait to get your hands on this delicious package..." he snarled as she shot him a deathly glare. If looks could kill he would've been staked, buried, dug up and then staked again for good measure.
When his weight settled making the bed deplete, her heavy eyelids drooped and she pretended that the lining of pillows was the Great Wall of China and the person on the other side was a forbidden territory, a sinful thought and pretty much out of her reach.
For he was the sky, and the sky doesn't fall in love with a brook running down the mountainside. "You tend to forget that a brook grows and merges with the ocean till it becomes it," his hot breath hit the nape of her neck. He had heard her thoughts. For the love of god,she needed to stop thinking such things out loud.
The night faded away with that shard of guilt down the pit of her stomach and she wondered; how on earth she was going to explain this to Caleb. What part of sleeping on the same bed sounded entirely platonic?
