I woke up with the sun blinding me as the rays shined through the window. My throat was dry and my head was foggy. I looked right infront of me, trying to focus on the my surrounding, the familiar shapes of the furniture in the bedroom.
The picture in the frame just by my bedside on the drawer was still blurred as my eyes tried to adjust, me slowly being able to focus on the picture of Alex and I that we had got some tourist, that hardly spoke or understood English, to take while we stood infront of the Statue of Liberty, a blanket of snow on the shoulders and crown of the statue.
My bottom lip started to quiver as the cool summer morning breeze crept under the door and through the crack in the window.
I looked at the clock on the other bedside drawer, Alex not in his side of the bed, but the shape of him still imprinted on the mattress and his scent still lingering on the sheets. Where could he be?
Then it clicked. It was my birthday. He had probably gotten up early to make breakfast for me, like he had every birthday- wait, everyday I woke after him- for the past seven years.
This day, four years ago, my birthday was a sad excuse for a celebration. Stuck in a restraunt with family I didn't really know, us grieving my deceased father, me leaving that place black and blue from being beaten to a pulp by my own brother. But it was my own fault. I didn't even try to fight back. I needed that pain
Really, I, and Alex, both made it a long way since then. Alex and I started to become sincerely happy.
We weren't just sitting around guessing when the other would leave. We had hope that the other would stay, and that we would be okay. Therapy helped a lot.
We became more happy being together, not ever really thinking that we were going to fall apart in the last two years.
We done other things than just staying in the house wasting the time.
We would go out on day trips to the first plane out of Washington once a month, and we have seen many places outside these four walls. We've been to Dubai, Texas, LA, New York, Ireland and many more. With my inheritance, it was possible to just go as we pleased. We could stay for just the weekend, or a week, or sometimes nearly a month.
We done more in the last two years than I think we have done in our whole lives.
I got up out of bed and walked down the familiar stairway, going in through the sitting room door, seeing Alex through the archway in the kitchen by the stove, him wearing a pair of loose fitted baggy jeans and a plain white V-neck, his hair a nest, stubble just starting to grow.
I padded over to him, wrapping my hands around his waist, a soft smile forming on his lips.
"Morning," he softly croaked, as I rested my chin in the crook of his neck. He was still tired, his eyes droopy and him yawning every few half minutes.
"What ya makin'?" I asked, looking at the frying pan on the stove as he cracked an egg into it.
"Eggs and bacon for the birthday boy," he said, carefully unwrapping my arms from his waist so he could take the tray from the oven.
He cooked the eggs then slipped them onto a plate, adding a few pieces of bacon onto the plater. He placed it at my place on the table, sorted himself a plate, then we both sat down at the table, eating away at the food.
"So what did you get me then?" I asked when I finished swallowing my last bite.
He smiled, showing me his dimples, then looked back up at me.
"Well..." he started, a mischievious grin on his lips, him standing up from the table, taking the plates and putting them in the dishwasher.
"Well..?" I egged on.
