Jourdan Mathews has a secret, and she knows she needs to take this one to the grave.
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Her life was never complicated: a college student with a close family, good friends, and a plan for her future as a doctor. Had that night had never happened...
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Waking up with Jourdan in my arms is strangely comforting. In the way that I could picture myself like this everyday without question. It doesn't feel the way I'd always assumed people feel when they start to like someone, all gushy and over the top. No, it feels simple, natural, like something I could've been doing a long time ago.
Her small body is warm against mine, her head still tucked under my chin against my chest as we lay together with our arms wrapped around one another. My legs tangle with hers, the soft sounds of her breathing soothing my senses as my eyes blink in the bright sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows.
I don't remember exactly what time we fell asleep last night.
It must have been late though because I can feel the strain in my temple already, indicating that I need more sleep despite my body waking up on it's own. I know I'd woken up briefly to shut the TV off, seeing as we'd both drifted off in the middle of an episode of It's Always Sunny. And after that, I gone right back to keeping her curled against me as close as possible.
It made my chest ache to see her break down that way last night. To see the pain and sorrow she still carries with her. But it also made me feel something different to think that she came to me.
She needed help. Needed someone to talk to, and the person she chose for that was me.
I don't know what that means. And the feelings lingering in my sternum now make me nervous, but it's not the kind of nervous I want to run away from.
It's funny, all this time I'd spent running from any form of attachment or commitment, and now that I'm actually getting close to something vaguely like it, and I don't want to run. Even if it makes me nervous and scared and vulnerable.
Just then I feel Jourdan shift against me, her body flexing as she stretches her legs out against mine and her breathing changes.
"Morning." She hums, voice scratchy and hoarse from sleep. I roll off her onto my back, smiling as she lifts her head from my chest with a small smile on her face.
"How'd you sleep?" I ask, clearing my own throat and she sighs.
"Really well actually," she says slowly. "I needed that too- I haven't been sleeping much lately."
"I know how you feel." I agree, even if we didn't get much of it, I'd still fall into a deep, dreamless sleep last night. The kind of sleep that pulls you in and won't let you go, the good kind that leaves you wishing for more in the morning.
I study her face, small wrinkles from my sweatshirt creased into her cheek, a rosy hue blooming in the space across her nose. Her blonde hair is a bit rumpled, but somehow still straight and smooth as it hangs around her face. She smiles at me then, a look in her eye that I recognize.
"Can I try something this morning?" She asks and I raise an eyebrow.
