In your arms

March 28, 2028 - Home

Good morning everyone, thank you for your comments and affection! This chapter, i know, will seem strange to you: we are five years later from where we left off and we don't know who is speaking... I deliberately left the dialogues without subjects, to create some doubt. I look forward to hearing your theories. See you soon (maybe before next Friday), ciao!!

Five years later.

March 28, 2028 – Home

The alarm clock rings on time as it does every morning, setting a definite rhythm to the days. It does so again today, although it is not a morning like any other. The first woman to open her eyes, always the same, every morning, who punctually stretches out on the bedside table to turn off the incessant rhythm of that damn "beep, beep," would really like to disappear today. It is one of the rare times when she would like to shout "five more minutes!" like a wayward child. She sighs, looking up at the ceiling, her eyes wide open and a principle of panic ready to explode from the pit of her stomach. She tries to keep it at bay with the pressure of her hands on her belly, but it is not working properly. She has been awake for a long time before the alarm went off, but she doesn't have the courage to turn her head to find out whether the woman sleeping next to her already has her eyes open or not.

No, the other woman did not have her eyes open at the sound of the alarm clock, because it has taken her a long time, too long, to fall asleep, in the grip of a thousand thoughts and fears, mixed with some longings, and now she would like to be in the magical torpor of her bedroom. She immediately turns onto her side, because the panic of the person sleeping next to her most nights seems to eat her alive, engulfing herself and her as well.

She reaches out a hand, trying to intertwine her fingers with those of the other woman, but she receives a cold response. She sighs, but knows very well that she cannot fault her for it. Not today. Today is not just any day for anyone.

< look at me..> she tries to say anyway, hoping that through her gaze she can convey some calm to her: there were times when it worked.

She did not expect the other to actually turn around, shaking her hair from in front of her face and even opening a faint smile.

< did you sleep well?> one asks; < I didn't sleep at all!> replies the other.

< is today..> they say to each other together, fearful of having reached this milestone and what it means for the two of them.

Spontaneously their fingers intertwine, on the mattress between their bodies. Usually it is difficult for there to be this space between them in bed, but today they do not feel like it.

< what do you think will happen?> they dare to ask each other, but neither of them can really answer.
< are you ready?> the, apparently, quieter one asks in the midst of a yawn.

< you can't be ready. But I'm trying..> they nod together. In the silence around them, one of the two women, the one who still feels the panic looming over her like a black cloud, tries to reach out a hand to the cleavage coming out of the nightgown of the one in front of her. There is no sexual implication. There is only a desire to seek contact, almost maternal.

They look at each other with another slight smile, which does not reach their eyes.

< what do you want for breakfast?> panic is dissolving, thoughts shift to how long has it been since anyone asked her what she wanted for breakfast. She is not in time to answer though.

The quiet, familiar silence that had settled between them is interrupted by the faint crackling of a door. The still relatively new wooden floor, the one that must have been of a happy new life, creaks under little feet that are unsure, because they are shy, but at the same time determined.