The spark // Art Donaldson

012. Warmth & Pain

Cadell, 2006

Cadell felt warm for the first time in what felt like ages. Half asleep, she was enveloped in something—or rather, someone—but she didn't care to open her eyes. It felt so right there. She curled into a ball and snuggled herself closer, savoring the comforting embrace.

...

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. Cadell stirred, the warmth of the bed and the lingering haze of sleep keeping her cocooned in a dreamy state for a few blissful moments.

She felt the familiar presence of Art beside her, his arm draped loosely around her waist, and a small, contented smile tugged at her lips.

But as her mind began to clear, the events of the previous night came rushing back. The party, the dancing, the intense kiss, the way they had held each other as if the world outside didn't exist. Her heart swelled with the memory, a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. She turned her head slightly to look at Art, studying his peaceful expression. The lines of his face were softened in sleep, his usual guarded demeanor replaced by a rare vulnerability. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope that things might be different, that the kiss they had shared would lead to something more, something real.

But as if sensing her gaze, Art began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and for a brief second, their gazes locked, a silent understanding passing between them.

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, his expression shifted. The warmth and tenderness that had been there moments ago were replaced by a mask of casual indifference.

"Morning," he mumbled, stretching and pulling away from her, as if the intimacy they had shared was nothing more than a fleeting dream. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and glanced around the room with a disinterested air.

"Morning," Cadell replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. She tried to keep her tone light, but she couldn't shake the sinking feeling in her chest.

Was it going to be like it always had been? Being friends that didn't mention anything about their feelings?

She waited, hoping he would say something, acknowledge what had happened between them.

But he didn't.

Instead, Art got up and started rummaging through his drawers for clothes, his movements brisk and businesslike.

"We should probably get ready. We have practice in an hour," he said, his tone casual, almost as if he were speaking to a roommate or a teammate, not someone he had kissed passionately just hours before.

Cadell sat up slowly, her heart heavy with disappointment and frustration. She wanted to confront him, to ask him what they were, what he wanted, but the words caught in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to break the fragile peace between them, to risk losing even the semblance of normalcy they had left.

"Yeah, you're right," she replied, forcing a smile as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stood up, gathering her clothes and trying to steady her racing heart. She couldn't let him see how much it hurt, how much she wanted more from him. They moved around each other in the small room, getting dressed in silence. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable. Cadell could feel the tears threatening to spill, but she blinked them back, determined not to show any weakness.

As they left the room and headed towards the practice courts, Cadell fell into step beside Art, the familiar routine of their friendship providing a fragile comfort. She forced herself to focus on the day ahead, on the match she had to prepare for, pushing her feelings for Art to the back of her mind.