He brushes his thumb lazily along my side, lulling me into a meditative-like state. It’s going to take some getting used to, how quiet this house is compared to the funeral home.
No old pipes.
No distant hum.
No creaking bones settling.
Just peace and quiet.
I miss that old house. The character and personality. I miss its contributions to our conversations. It was like having a third person living with us, but not in a weird or creepy way, more like a senile but much-loved relative.
Chad, trying to steal my home away from me, has bitterness digging its way into my chest. I can’t think about it too long, or I’ll be overwhelmed with the sour emotion.
I instead choose to turn my thoughts back to my… Mate?
He feels like my mate.
He wants to be my mate.
Who am I to tell this wise and ancient man no?
“You glow in the morning,” I tell him quietly.
“Do I?” he asks, his tone playful.
“You do. I thought it was the natural lighting at first, but it’s not, is it? It’s actually you. Or I guess it’s your phoenix. Right?”
“Mmm. Sounds about right. I’ve never noticed it before.”
We continue to bask in the afterglow of our mutual orgasms, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight until we eventually decide that caffeine is needed for us to function.
And that’s how every day starts.
Lazy lovemaking, followed by coffee in his too modern kitchen, before spending the day together doing whatever the hell we want.
Monday
We drive past the funeral home together. Chad is still there, this time with fully alive protesters, the undead probably rotting too fast to help his cause anymore. The fact that he seems to be gaining momentum sends me into a doom spiral, causing me to want to be alone to nest and wallow in private.
Tuesday
We eat dinner on the porch at his house. He cooked steak and made a Caesar salad to go with it. The steak was burnt, and the salad was wilted, but I still loved it.
Wednesday
He shifts outside at dusk to show off for me. I pretend to be unimpressed, but I am not. His phoenix is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, flames acting as feathers flashing bright as he twirls through the air in front of me.
Friday
Ember tells me he’s going to the funeral home to add security cameras to the doors and windows. I opt out of going, instead staying in the loft in a pile of blankets and reading my Kindle.
Saturday
We grocery shop like a normal couple. He debates olive oil against avocado oil. I add easy premade meals for us to heat up whenever he inevitably burns dinner.
Sunday
I’m warm in Ember’s arms.
