How did I get here?
Fragments of last night flicker…
Hydra, the stranger, the diving board panic, sobbing in Matthew’s arms, my pathetic confession…
Did I actually say it out loud?
Did he hear me say, I always end up alone?
Oh God.
A sick heat crawls up my throat, scalding the back of my neck.Mortification, so potent it feels like another wave of nausea, momentarily silences the hammer-blows inside my skull.I swing my legs over the side of the bed and bury my face in my hands, my palms a useless shield against the memory burned onto the back of my eyelids.
Standing up sends the room tilting precariously.Taking shallow breaths, I squeeze my eyes shut.I wait for the dizziness to pass, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress, the other pressing the heel of my palm against my throbbing temple.My whole body feels fragile and utterly spent.I navigate the short distance to the adjoining bathroom, my steps slow and unsteady.
My hands grip the edge of the sink, eyelids flinching shut against the harsh reality in the mirror.
The reflection is a ghost of the person who tried to put on a brave face last night.Puffy, red-rimmed eyes are underscored by deep smudges of exhaustion.My skin looks pale and almost translucent, stretched taut over cheekbones that seem too prominent today.My blonde hair, ravaged by sleep, sticks out in a wild, tangled mess around my face.Even the navy tracksuit, which swallows me whole, emphasizes how small and depleted I feel.
Shoulders slumped, I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face before doing what I can to tame my hair.
Feeling only marginally more human, my need for coffee overrides the potent desire to crawl back under the duvet and disappear.My hand rests on the banister, but my body refuses to move.Panic whispers to turn back now.But caffeine is a primal necessity I can’t ignore.
I descend slowly, each step careful on legs that still feel shaky.The house is quiet, filled with soft morning light.Following the rich aroma, I round the corner into the bright, sunlit kitchen.
My sluggish thoughts short-circuit.
Matthew leans against the far counter by the sink, his back to me.My eyes travel down the strong column of his spine to the low-slung waistband of his navy sweatpants.A stripe of morning sun bathes his skin, highlighting a fine sheen of sweat.It’s the healthy glisten of a body that has already worked, already moved, while mine is still struggling to simply exist.Every movement he makes as he lifts a tall glass of water to his lips is effortless.My body is an ill-fitting suit made of static and aches, but the man by the counter is all solid lines and quiet energy.
Heat crawls up my neck and across my chest.The fabric of the tracksuit, meant to be a comfort, suddenly feels too heavy, too tight against my prickling skin.Shame twists in my gut.My eyes drop to the floor, fixing on the pattern of the slate tile as if it can anchor me.
Matthew sets the glass down with a soft clink.
“Good morning.”
I rub a nervous hand across my forehead as I mumble ‘good morning’, risking the briefest glance upwards, just to his chest level.
Those defined muscles, that damp skin…
My eyes dart away again, landing on the gleaming chrome of the French press.
“Feeling better?”he asks, the concern in his tone unmistakable.
I manage a jerky nod, still not meeting his eyes.
My throat feels tight.Words seem impossible.
Coffee.
I just need coffee.
“Coffee,” he says, as if sensing my single-minded desperation.
The grind of beans fills the silence, a welcome mechanical noise that gives me something else to focus on.I shuffle further into the room, stopping at the large central island to lean over the cool stone edge, face settled between my palms.
When he turns his back again to scoop grounds into the press, my eyes betray me.They lift involuntarily, drawn to the broad expanse of his back, the way the muscles in his shoulders move as he reaches for the mugs.That raw, banked power I glimpsed last night is right there, undeniable in the morning light.And then, just below his left shoulder blade, a small, faded scar catches the light.
He shifts, and for a second, his shoulders seem to tense.I snap my face away, heat flaring in my cheeks.
