You've Only Got My Heart on a String

Chapter 8: Early Morning

Sasha sat up in the dark.

For an instant she couldn't place where she was. She sucked in a panicked breath just before she recognised Paul's bed. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but her hair was still barely damp from the shower she had taken at around midnight.

She was wearing only a black T-shirt of Paul's. She looked around for him, then felt the bed next to her. Paul was not there, but the sheets felt warm. She took a deep breath, still feeling the adrenaline.

Sasha felt like the whole previous day had been a dream. A chill swept down her spine. Suddenly the memory of yesterday felt off, twisted. Everything was too much, too close. She didn't feel in control of what was happening. Yes, she had schemed her way into Paul's life at first, eager for whatever she could get, but now he was the one with the plan.

Here in the dark, it was clear to Sasha that she was afraid. Not reluctant, not hardhearted, just cold and afraid of the future. Where was this headed? She couldn't give up on Paul and go home after making it so far, but she didn't want to open herself up to him any more either.

Sasha had no faith in the staying power of love. She simply hadn't seen the evidence of it, and had seen plenty in her life to show just how flimsy romantic relationships were. Even love that seemed sturdy would be proved flawed and ultimately brittle, in time. She knew that in the real world, people were selfish and magic didn't exist. Romance and fairy tale endings were fantasies.

And yet, here she was, taking part in a romance. She and Paul were together. Already.

She wondered how she would tell the people in her life. Well things are fine, and oh, yes, you know how I always liked Paul McCartney? This sounds crazy, but I gave him a drawing at an art exhibition earlier this month, and now he's my boyfriend. She'd avoided saying anything up to this point, not knowing how to start the conversation.

How would her friends and family react? Would they think it was a joke, or worse, be worried about her? Would they wonder if she'd somehow lost touch with reality? She tried to imagine how she would take it if a friend tried to tell her something like this.

Sasha's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hall. Paul walked in quietly. He shut the door behind him and pulled off a pair of pyjama bottoms. He returned to the bed wearing nothing, carefully sliding under the duvet. Then he noticed she was sitting up.

"Oh hullo, love. I was hoping I didn't wake you," he said, reaching out gently, his hand brushing against her shoulder. Sasha thought his eyes must have not adjusted to the darkness yet, from his hesitant touch.

"I don't think you did. It's probably just that I'm sleeping somewhere unfamiliar."

"Mm, right." He yawned. Paul moved closer. "It's only four. Think you can fall back asleep?"

"Yeah, I think so." Sasha stretched out on her side, facing him.

Paul laid down next to her. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," she whispered. The longer he stayed close to her, with his hand on her shoulder, the less it felt like a lie. Everything would be alright.

Paul rubbed her shoulders, then brought his hand to rest in the middle of her back. He took a long, quiet breath and lay still. Sasha felt her unease lifting. After listening to him breathe steadily a few more times, Sasha tried to slow her breathing rate to meet his. She closed her eyes.