One More Heartbeat

Lies?

She slowly blinks sleep from her eyes, even as her pen flies across the previously blank page. The soft whisper of the words being transcribed and the sudden absence of her warm body next to his wakes him up.

He shifts, propping his head up on his elbow, stretching out on the small dorm bed. He watches her, notices the tilt of her head as she struggles to make out her own words because she’s writing without her glasses, her slightly dazed expression as she focuses solely on the notebook in her lap. A yawn he fails to stifle finally breaks her concentration, minutes later.

Startled, she jumps slightly, fumbling to catch the leather bound book before it falls from the top bunk. “M—Morning,” she manages, a small, sheepish smile turning up the corners of her lips.

“Morning, love. Whacha doing?” He grins at her jumpy nature, knowing that she’s embarrassed at being caught scribbling before she’s even out of bed.

Before she can conjure up a suitable response, he’s sitting up straight, an arm around her waist. She shakes her head once. “Be right back. Bathroom.” She hightails it out of the room, replacing her journal back into its pocket nailed to the wall, to the right of her bed.

He leans against the wall, tucked into the corner, hugging a pillow to his bare chest, contemplating her frazzled self, resisting the urge to look through her work. It’s been getting harder and harder to keep his hands off that dark leather book, the temptation to be privy to a side of her no one knows but her muddling his thoughts. He doesn’t dare give in though; he knows better than to betray her trust like that. After all, she could have taken the book to the bathroom with her. Or hidden it. Definitely didn’t have to keep it within arm’s reach of him.  

Instead of doing something he knows he’ll regret, he taps out the melody of her favorite song against the wooden frame of the bed, humming softly as he slips a mint into his mouth. He’s rewarded a few moments later by the click of the door opening. She’s tidied herself up a bit, pulling her hair out of the braid and brushing it, sort of, putting in her contacts. She had slipped on a silky white poncho type thing for her trip down the hall, covering up the lacy black bra and boy short set she’d slept in. It slips off her right shoulder teasingly as she re-climbs the short ladder to her bunk. He wraps a hand around her upper arm and tugs her into him when she’s safely on the bed. She laughs a breathless ghost of a giggle, before turning so her back is pressed against his chest, safe in the circle of his arms. Making herself comfortable, she reaches back and grabs her notebook again, blindly choosing a gel pen from the full cup hanging on the wall.

He relaxes against the wall once more, adjusting her bright green pillows behind him before letting his eyes fall shut again. Lazily, he draws little circles over the ridge of her hip bone with his thumb. The thought of how much weight she’s lost recently flickers through his mind again. His blue eyes fly open, dark eyebrows drawn together as he unfocusedly stares over her shoulder at her familiar, colorful, rushed cursive. This time, the pen she’s using is red, the color of her lipstick the first time they kissed, under the matching berries of the mistletoe; the color of the dress she was wearing when she collapsed, months ago, on one of their dates; the quickly darkening color of the blood trickling past her perfectly shaped eyebrows because she had hit her forehead on the marble floor.

He shudders as the memories assault his mind once more. He bends his neck slightly, pressing his forehead against her shoulder, arms tightening around her waist as he closes his eyes, trying to find the right words to ask what he wants to.

She picks up his change in mood, turning so her legs are slung over one of his own. He draws a knee up so she can rest her back against it. She leans away from his chest slightly, so she can better look at him, one arm twining around his neck, the other palm resting against his face, fingertips idly tracing his jaw line.  

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” he murmurs, shifting her closer so her head’s tucked under his chin.

There’s a long pause as her hands drift down so that one arm is wrapped around his torso, the other resting against his heart. She doesn’t look at him as she noncommittally nods her head. “Mhmm.”