The Spare To The Throne

Chapter 56: You Can't Eat Your Cake & Have It

"How long has she been asleep?"

"A little over ten hours, sir," there's a slight pause. "I gave her some general anesthesia to ease her pain. Side effects include drowsiness, but it should be wearing off soon." The voice is gentle and firm. I know that it's of a woman, but I don't see her.

"Thank you, you may take the day off," the bosom voice is baritone and I feel my body jolt in response to it. Unfortunately, I'm surrounded my darkness but my ears are keen. "I was just about to clean her,"

"That's alright, I'll take care of it,"

"Yes sir," footsteps recoil and I hear a door close shut.

I feel his presence near me. He hovers like a cloud, his scent stronger than ever. Pine and luxurious cologne. His body exudes warmth and I feel my heart pick up it's pace. Something warm grazes my cheek; a wet towel. It dabs at the corners of my head faintly, before traveling down to the opposite cheek.

The towel then slides down my neck and arms. It traces over the opposite arm too and I feel my nerves tingle. Just when it glides over the palm of my hand, I twitch and my fingers curl around his.

He freezes as if imagining my movements. I contemplate my motives too, unsure if my body is merely reacting on my subconscious. His hands grow firm around my own. The thudding in my chest is nerve wracking. I feel like I'm on a high and any moment now I'll come crashing down.

My hair is brushed back and his scent fills me again. He's close and I know it. I feel his sultry lips graze my forehead. He stays there for a moment, not letting go. A curt sniff is heard and when he detaches I feel bare.

Something wet drops onto my cheek. In an instant, a thumb brushes it away. As if flipping on a mental switch, my eyes peel open. The room is bright so I shut my lids again. When I peer up, the room is less blinding but most importantly I see him.

Xavier's eyes are red and welled. He doesn't notice my wakening though as he's too busy staring at our intertwined hands. Instinctively, I begin to dissect him. He looks awfully tired. His once perfectly sleeked hair resembles a morning look. The aching weight of his lack of sleep is detailed in the heavy bags under his eyes. His button down is slightly wrinkled and so are his pants. His lips droop with a certain grief I've never seen. And yet there's still an undeniable charm to him.

How can one look so perfectly imperfect? Why does my distress cause you a stress of your own? I wanted to ask. I want so desperately for his despondency to be nonexistent. I wish he was still in Germany. I wish he didn't take that eight hour flight just to rush back to me. God, why is my throat constricting at the thought of this? Why does my stomach churn with such unfathomable admiration?

Slowly, his eyes veer up towards my face. When our eyes lock, he jumps up off the bed, spinning around briskly so his face is shielded from me. I see him wipe at his face dryly. It takes a minute but he regains his composure. When he turns around his expression is stoic.

"Farrah-"

"Why are you here?" My voice is low in pitch yet the scratchiness behind it is distinct.

His weary eyes loose its red taint. He takes a seat back on the bed, his back straight and tall, and his shoulders square in their usual stance. He runs a hand through his hair, somewhat combing it out. As if trained for this moment, Xavier conceals his emotions. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

His nonchalant demeanor can be sensed without a word.

"Here," he reaches for the cup on my nightstand. "Drink," he instructs as he draws the straw to my lips. I do as told and our eyes never seem to break within the moment. It is now that I notice that I'm in my room, in his house.