Miss, Do I Know You?

29 - Sunday, January 24

Merging pale sunbeams and tender touches, the dawn came with a peace I had not known often. I knew without a doubt that I would never forget how big my smile was that morning, if for no other reason than the fact I awakened with my arm almost completely numb from her lying on top of it, such a comforting burden that I would have paid a hundred times over to experience it every morning after.

Her bare skin warmed me more than any blanket could have, but soon the tingling in my arm turned unbearable and pulled a hushed greeting from my lips. Only a moment later she shifted ever so slightly. But in response to my repeated words, Alex then recoiled from the contact almost in like an instinctive reaction, murmuring faint curses before finally looking up at me.

In that sleepy glance, I witnessed the spark of recognition that immediately turned into a lingering thought, as if she could not fathom why I was still there. But then a drowsy smile flickered before she collapsed against me in one breath and almost spilled off the bed in the next when she rolled away and took the blanket with her. 

I couldn't help but laugh, for the sight of her half-asleep was a beautiful thing—her pajama pants hitched up her tattooed legs as she stretched, her tousled hair, everything. All I wanted was to stay. The birds and the clouds and the trees and the pale sun had surely never heard of a happier soul than I at that moment; my existence had taken a turn for the better in many aspects, and it could be felt in a hundred different ways.

"Good morning," I repeated once more. "Someone finally woke up."

Another adorable smile blessed my eyes, so wide it seemed like her cheeks would burst. "Good morning," she said, her voice holding its morning raspiness. "How I'd missed waking up to you."

"Oh, so you did like that?" I joked, recalling those nights spent unacknowledged on her couch. "What I remember is the awkward stares."

Her lips curved into a sweet smile as she flipped to her side, resting her head on her hand. "That was a small price to pay for being able to sleep through entire nights," she said before quirking a corner of her lips up. "And you're even warmer without clothes on."

I sent her a grin, seizing the opportunity to trail my eyes along the tattoos on her arm. Her stomach. Her breasts. My fingers hesitated to join, so accustomed to casual shoves, playful jabs, clothed hugs or fleeting brushes of fingers, now hovering over her skin with an entirely different weight. It wasn't that I was afraid to touch her but rather wanted to touch her so much that I was afraid to push it. There was eagerness, but neither of us seemed in a rush to slake it. Even the thought of bravery made me nervous.

"Can I?" I asked.

A slow smile spread across her sleepy face. The way her gaze lingered was invitation enough. "Of course."

Her eyelids fell shut as my fingers sketched over her chest. But I couldn't resist. I sat on top of her. I wanted to bring my mouth to her. To trace tender little kisses over her. To press a little harder right here and there. To submerge myself in every groove, every bump, and every perfect imperfection. But as I felt the raised scar tissue that had caught my attention last night, my gaze followed the long scar snaking its way down her side instead.

She smiled wider when she perceived my curiosity. "I used to be an idiot," she said. "That's the proof."

"Meaning?"

"Climbed a fence and got myself cut open on the way down."

The absurdity of it made me laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Might have been running from the cops at that time too."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing too bad, I promise."