Manik's POV
"You still wear it," Angel says, her eyes resting on my left hand. I follow her gaze to find her staring at the ring she gifted me.
"It's the only gift I've received in all my life that was bought keeping me in mind. Not something for which the driver was sent, or just picked off a shelf for the sake of it," I confess. "So, of course I cherish it." Angel smiles at me, biting down on her lower lip.
"When are you next taking me to the tracks?" She asks, taking me by surprise. I stare at the back of her hand which is still resting above mine.
"How do you know I even go there after my accident?" My free hand moves above hers on its own volition, my thumb lightly brushing back and forth across her skin.
"Because I've noticed the burnt tires," she replies. "The tool box that's always lying open beside the hood of your car, and the skateboard on which you lie down to slide underneath it."
"How...Why do you focus on so many details about me?" I genuinely want the answer to this. I don't understand as to why she doesn't lash out at me when I treat her like trash, but instead keeps trying to win me over. Everyone has a breaking point and usually I hit their nerves really easily, but Angel is a different case altogether.
"You are one fascinating creature, Mr. Manik Malhotra," Angel says, resting her head against the headboard. She shuts her eyes, humming a soft tune in her throat.
"Don't sleep like that," I say. "It'll give you a neck pain tomorrow. Lie down properly." Eyes still shut, Angel lowers herself onto her back. But her head is still resting against the headboard. I watch as her chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm. Is she asleep?
My doubt is confirmed in the next second when her head lolls to the side, towards the bedside table. Before I can register my own actions, my hand shoots out to protect her head from hitting the edge of the table. The back of my hand lands on top of a nail that's jutting out from the side of the structure, just as Angel's head lands against my palm. The pressure causes the nail to further drive itself into my flesh.
I wince, but keep my hand in place. If I move it then her head will be the victim of the sharp object. With my other hand, I gently move Angel's head back towards the bed and onto a pillow. Once she's safely positioned on the bed, I begin to work on getting the nail out of my skin.
*****
Had anyone told me a week ago that a woman would be lying on my bed, deeply asleep, while I'll be struggling to find a decent enough sleeping position on the couch, I would've laughed in their face and called them delusional. But tonight this is a reality.
I watch as Angel turns around, the blanket slipping down from her body and towards her legs. Good Lord, this woman moves more than a tornado. Sighing, I get off the couch for what could quite possibly be the fifteenth time and make my way towards the bed. I take hold of the blanket's hem and pull it back over her body. By the time morning comes, I will be a pro at this task.
I wouldn't be a subject to such work just for anyone, and so Angel should feel honored. But what would she know? Tomorrow morning when she awakens she'll know nothing about all the work I've done for her tonight. Should I tell her? One should gain credit for the efforts they've put in, right?
No, that doesn't feel right. She didn't rub it in my face when she took care of me all night, or when she nursed my burnt hand. So I shouldn't either. Another first for me.
*****
A clattering sound causes me to jerk back into the world of consciousness. Eyes wide, I sit up at once and glance around the room to see who's causing this commotion. Angel is sitting up in bed, her feet on the floor. Is she trying to get up?
"You know, my bed doesn't have bugs." I say, as I rub the sleep away from my eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I-I can't sleep," she replies, trying to stand up with the help of the bedside table.
"And you're going to get yourself sleeping pills, or something?" I ask, glancing over at the digital clock on my bedside table. It's three in the morning.
"No, I'm going back to my room. That way you can have your bed back as well." Angel says, still trying to get off the bed.
"No!" The haste with which the word leaves my lips startles both her and me. "Uh...how do I know that you're not high anymore? Anything's possible. You could start drunk dialing people, or break a bunch of other decoration pieces around the house. No, I simply cannot trust you." Lie. The truth is that with Angel in my room, this place doesn't feel so lonely. It's been a long time since I've fallen asleep with a smile on my face. And I don't want her to go just yet, thereby taking that feeling with her.
"Manik, I'm perfectly alright now." Angel says, as she manages to get on her feet. Hissing, she lands back on the mattress.
"Fuck," I hiss, making my way towards her. "You're in no condition to start walking just yet and like I said, I don't trust you're back to your senses."
"So what shall I do for the remainder of the night? Lie awake and stare at the ceiling?" She asks, as I gently move her injured leg back on the bed.
"Talk to me," I reply without a second's delay. "It's not like I can sleep on that couch anyway," I lie again.
"Oh," she mumbles, allowing me to tuck her back into bed. "I'm sorry about that." I flick my wrist dismissively.
"Don't bother," I say. "Sleep isn't my closest friend anyways." I make my way towards the other side of the bed and get onto the mattress, turning my body to face her. She watches me expectantly, waiting for me to start up the conversation. I tap my fingers against my bare leg, sifting through my brain for something to start up the conversation with. Usually she's the one who always begins with a topic, so why can't she do so now as well?
Why am I so awkward around her? I am a smooth talker. The man who can flirt with anyone, be it someone's sister, mother, or even grandmother for that matter. And here I can't even begin a conversation with my own wife. How pathetic!
"I like your smell," I blurt out.
"Excuse me?" Angel asks, grinning. "You like my smell?" A bark of laughter escapes her lips.
"Um...No, that's not what I mean," I say, trying to fix my error. "You carry this rose and lemon scented fragrance around with you wherever you go. Whenever I come into the house and this fragrance hits me, I immediately know which room you're in, or from where you've passed by. It's really strong."
"Oh, that," Angel says, nodding her head. "Yeah, I make these homemade soaps that I use which are the cause of such fragrances."
"Not just a pretty face, huh?" I comment, surprised once again at the knowledge she holds.
"Oh, so I'm pretty?" She asks, raising her eyebrows questioningly.
"I never said that," I mumble. "And that's not what we're here to discuss. You and I are trying to get you to go back to sleep."
"Any ideas as to how you're going to manage that?" Angel asks. Well, when I am tasked with the duty of putting a child to sleep at the shelter, I usually sing to them. And if not that, then I read them a storybook. I'm pretty sure that Angel is well past the age of fairy-tales, and so maybe a song will do the trick. But I've never sung for a friend, or any adult for that matter.
The thought of allowing Angel to hear my voice causes goosebumps to erupt across my skin. What if she doesn't like it? No, I'm not a bad singer. I'm a confident, overly talented man. The mere thought of singing to a woman shouldn't have such an effect on me.
Clearing my throat, I open my mouth to tell her that I will sing, but no words escape my lips. Shutting my lips, I re-open them and try again.
"I'll sing for you." I say, my voice coming out in a timid tone. What's wrong with me tonight? I think it's the lack of sleep. Yes, that's it. Angel's eyes widen with surprise. Is she shocked that I can sing? Or that I want to for her? Why is she so hard to understand? Reading women is my forte, except when it comes to her.
"Okay," she agrees eagerly. "I want to hear Poison and Wine."
"Oh, Madam, I'm not taking song requests. You'll have to live with what you get," I say. Disappointment immediately washes across her face.
"Okay." And here's that feeling of guilt running through my veins again.
"You're in luck though because I'm in the mood to sing that song too." And just like that I find myself giving in to her wishes. Pathetic, yes, that's what I am. How is it so easy for me to be influenced by her mere disappointment?
"You only know what I want you to," I begin singing.
"I know everything you don't want me to." Angel sings the line I always skip, simply because this song requires two singers and so this verse comes way too soon after the first one for me to make it. "Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine," she continues.
For a second I forget that I need to sing as well because Angel's voice is mesmerizing. She doesn't need me to sing for her. All she needs to do is record her own voice and allow it to transport her to lands beyond this one.
"You think your dreams are the same as mine," I sing, gazing right into Angel's eyes. "Oh I don't love you but I always will." I repeat this verse at least three times. Since she has heard this song, I'm sure Angel knows that both the singers join in to sing these lines, but she doesn't take a part in singing these.
"I always will," she adds, as I finish repeating that line for the last time. But it sounds more like three spoken words rather than a line in a song. "I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back."
"The less I give the more I get back." Now instead of singing it feels like the two of us are merely speaking these lines out loud. Like confessions which have long since been overdue.
"Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise." Angel tilts her head to the side ever so slightly. My gaze flits down towards her forearms unintentionally as I remember all the pain I've caused her.
"I don't have a choice but I'd still choose you." My voice is just above a whisper, all traces of a song gone from it. We're closer now than when we started off singing. My gaze travels down towards her parted, lush lips before heading back towards her eyes. There's not a single trace of sleep in them. The only thing that is being reflected in those rounds is me.
Angel wraps her palm around my cheek, bringing her face closer to mine. She rests her forehead against mine, her soft breaths fanning my face. I don't think I've ever been this close to a woman before without wanting to sleep with her. But that's just the thing. Although Angel tempts me all the time, this moment - right now, just as we are - is perfect. It's all I need. For the first time in my life, physical proximity isn't directly linked to sexual activity. She and I are speaking to each other on an emotional level, but at the same time are establishing our connection via touch, without even uttering a word, if that's even possible.
I want to sit here forever and feel her presence close to mine. It has caused me to float into a state of mind which is utterly at peace. They say that our mind stops working only after death, and at the time of an exam. But I am at peace now. My mind's at rest and my universe only consists of the two of us. This moment is perfect.