ACHES

2. resonant

I woke up wincing, orange light behind my eyelids interrupting a pleasant dream. I blinked hazily, moving my head out of the unrelenting sunbeam. I groaned at the ache in my neck, reaching up to rub the tender muscle. I was dizzy, foggy, and... Sitting? I rubbed a knuckle into my eye, blinking rapidly to try and clear my groggy vision. Something under me was moving, up and down, steadily. And snoring. My breath caught in my lungs. My hand collided with an unbuttoned white shirt, and soft, warm skin.

Fuck.

Warm skin covered in small, round bruises. And long, red streaks, the spaces between them matching the distance between my fingertips.

Matty slept underneath me, head resting on the back of an armchair, mouth slightly open. He snored quietly, in long, even pulses of resonant noise. It was pretty.

I shook my head. My feet were resting on his thigh, and I was curled between his legs, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. I swayed with his inhales, still wrapping my mind around the blurred memories of the previous evening. I looked up at him, my lipstick dotting the corner of his open mouth. He seemed peaceful, the sun illuminating his bare chest and warming his neck, strained from the position of his head.

My heart ached looking at him, as if I missed him.

Where the fuck was I?

I took in the room around me, unfamiliar and unusually cold. In front of me was a queen-sized bed, unmade. The bedding was piled in the corner of the room, with my jeans and my purse. This was a hotel room. On the nightstand were three empty water bottles.

I shivered, realizing how bare my legs were and how sore my back was.

Matty stirred underneath me, his hand brushing against my back. His head snapped up when he touched me, looking at me with unfocused eyes. He blinked, then sighed, the sun enhancing the pink glow of his lips. He smiled, flipping something under my stomach. I breathed slowly as my heart raced ahead of me, waiting for him to say something.

"Hi," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Hi," I returned, trying not to let the confusion I felt sneak onto my face. He brushed through my hair with his fingers, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the friction on my scalp. Sweet, careful, loving. His fingers touched me so delicately I almost couldn't feel him. They left behind white-hot sensitivity, my ear ringing with the heat reflecting off his palm.

"How're you feeling?" he continued brushing through my hair, looking at me with wide pupils. Was he still drunk?

"Good," I said, and pressed my face into his shoulder. "You?"

"Mm," he hummed, adjusting underneath me, "Nauseous."

I giggled, "Oh no."

"You mind if I go brush my teeth, sweetheart?" he cooed, tightening my chest. He said 'sweetheart' with such casual familiarity that I almost felt that it was my name. I shook my head, and he sat forwards, picking me up effortlessly. My breath caught in my throat at how easily he lowered me into the bed. He placed a kiss on my forehead, "Wait here a minute." He walked to the corner of the room, grabbing the discarded blankets and covering me in them. He tucked them tight around my torso, and I giggled at his furrowed, concentrated expression.

"Thanks," I whispered, and he nodded. He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me to listen to the sound of the faucet running. I stared at the ceiling, still foggily trying to remember exactly what had happened yesterday. I was at the bar, asking him for a cigarette, drinking, and then... We left. To this hotel, I suppose. The bathroom door slid open, and he stood in front of the bed, his hair slightly damp as if he had wet it in the sink. He stepped over to sit on the side of the bed, leaning over me. His hand depressed the mattress beside my head, and he looked down at me with a curve in his lip. My lips were numb, my nose cold. I was almost panting at his proximity.

"I'm really sorry," he spoke, pulling the blanket higher over my chest, "But I have to leave you. I've booked the hotel until tomorrow though, so you can stay as long as you'd like."

"It's okay," I nodded quickly, which made him take in a deep breath.

"Don't feel..." he trailed off, looking at his hand beside my head, "If I could stay, I would. But I promised-"

"It's okay," I repeated, and he sat backwards, running a hand through his hair.

"Could I take you for dinner tonight?" he asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. His eyes jumped between mine, waiting for a reaction.

"Of course," I felt my shoulders relax with his eased expression. He cupped my cheek with his hand, stroking the delicate skin under my eye carefully.

"I'll pick you up, wherever you are. Just call me." he smiled, "Your phone is charging in the corner there," he gestured behind him.

"Okay," I held his gaze closely, feeling the seconds stretch by.

"Okay," he let go of my face, releasing an audible sigh, "I'll make it up to you."

I only nodded, smiling up at him. He stood, buttoning his shirt in the mirror. He caught me staring in the reflection, and winked. It felt like a static shock.

"And you put my number in your phone last night," he said, grabbing his wallet, "I'll see you later."

And he left.

I sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress.