Cold Hearts and Stubborn Minds

6

Sunday Night

I feel something gently brush against my cheek, startling me awake. It was a piece of hair. Okay. I freaked out because a piece of hair touched my face. Right.

I sigh. I don't know what I thought may have touched my cheek. What was behind Dylan that other night? Dylan himself? If Dylan were to touch me that gently...

I criticize myself for thinking like that and shiver a bit. I pull some blankets around myself, wrapping me in a cocoon, which would keep me completely safe from anything. An impenetrable shield. Made of blankets.

Just then, a weight settles upon my waist. My heart races and I'm slightly scared to look up.

Dylan's words appear in the front of my mind. "I sleepwalk sometimes."

I find it hard to believe, but I look up. And to my surprise, Dylan is indeed the one sitting on my--

That sudden realization comes crashing down on me. Dylan is sitting on my waist. He's swaying slightly. His hand is against my chest.

Butterflies fill my stomach at the situation. He's probably half asleep. The things he might do... I restrain a groan. The butterflies are heading to places other than just my stomach.

I try to speak, but no sound is emitted. My voice is caught in my throat. It's a choice between, Try to get him up and before off it's too late and you can't make any other sound but moaning, and, Wait and see if he wakes up on his own in time.

My brain fights with these two options, and as it does, Dylan seems to lean forward. I almost give out an agitated squawk, then don't as Dylan touches my cheek. Although, his fingers don't feel like fingers. They feel smoother, softer. I restrain a shiver. What's touching my face isn't hair this time. Definitely not.

I reach up at touch whatever is touching my face, and am surprised to find a feather. I skim my finger across it. Why does he have a feather?

Dylan shudders, giving me a miniature heart attack. I thought he was going to hit me or something. But no. He stays there, practically motionless. I move my hand up and am surprise to find something solid and soft. Dylan shudders again. What is going-

"I wouldn't go any farther if I were you," he says. My heart races. He's awake. I'm not sure whether it's the worst or best thing that could happen. My hand is still on the smooth, soft thing. He doesn't move.

"D-Dylan," I stutter. I compose myself, then, "Dylan, you're, ah, sort of on my waist..." The butterflies were scared away, replaced by my heart attack.

"Right," he murmurs, like he didn't notice. "Sorry." He starts to get up, but before he can get up far enough to get out of the room, I sit up, causing him to fall over. I stand and quickly pad across the room, despite Dylan telling me not to turn on the light.

I flick it on. I just want to know-

My eyes meet Dylan's and there's nothing in them, not even anger. He looks stunned. I probably look stunned to, for there, on his back, were two black wings.

----~~~----

My knees almost give out but I force myself to stay standing. I slowly walk over to him. He drops his gaze to the bed.

And I, of course, start firing off questions.

"You have wings?" I ask in a shrill voice, even though it's obvious. I come around to his back. There's two holes cut into his shirt. The wings weren't fake. They are actually a part of his body.