Antilove

Trenta

CAPITOLO TRENTA

a slow consideration

***

SKIN TO SKIN IS never lovelier than it is in the morning. A temperature at just the right amount, friction in the smoothest way, and cool silk sheets tangled between them.

    The light's beating down on the window to Lucien's room already, and there's the faint rustling of tree leaves as they sway in the breeze. Rose lies awake, eyes open to the ceiling, feeling the remnants of her mascara scattered across her cheek.

    She committed a sin last night: not taking off her makeup.

    The songs of her days are played like a romantic nocturne. Slow, soft, and sweet at some parts, and tumultuous at others. Rose knows nothing about music other than the one's she's picked up from Amber. Sighing into her pillow, she looks for an indication of what day of the week it is. Without her job, she's lost all track of the year.

    Lucien's on his stomach next to her, shoulders broad and spread as he breathes into his pillow.

    That's bad for your skin, she wants to say, but remembers that his skin probably exfoliates by itself. Sitting up, she adjusts the strap of her lingerie, and sweeps her messy hair into a bun. Her movements jostle the bed, and she creeps out, careful not to disturb Lucien.

    A glance into her room tells how much of a hurricane passed through there. Though they're not visible to the naked eye, there are cracks in the foundations of the wall and claw marks on the wood furniture. Rose sees her room as heartbreak—because that's exactly what it is.

    Heartbreak over her grave. Heartbreak over her mom's grave. Again, again, and again. This is the room she's grown up in, now too small for her. The closet's simply not deep enough for all her skeletons, and the walls can no longer hold in the flood.

    Maybe it really is time for a change. Maybe Italy could be the answer. Rose remembers how, on her birthday, she went to Napa Valley. Only a few hours away, it was still a beautiful change. It didn't impact her that much but she imagines Europe might.

    She washes off her makeup, and rushes through her morning shower. After brushing her teeth, she finds an extra prescription bottle in her cabinet. Reading the label and seeing if it's the one she's supposed to take, Rose swallows her daily dosage and continues with her day.

    Then, she makes two bowls of cereal, because that's all she can muster this morning. She gives Lucien less milk, to prevent the sogginess.

    Creeping back onto Lucien's bed, she sets his bowl and gently strokes his hair, pushing it off his forehead. It feels like something indescribable in her hands—utterly soft and tangle-free, just the opposite of hers. Slowly, Lucien comes to, lush green eyes flickering open.

    "Good morning," she says. "Made you breakfast. Don't know if you're the type to eat before or after."

    Lucien yawns and stretches, making noises as he does so. His skin offsets the white of his bedsheets and he looks heaven-sent and hell-raised.

    "You finally cook?" he asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

    "It's cereal."

    "Makes sense." He grins and rolls onto his back, lazily blinking.

    Rose starts to eat without him, body feeling foreign from having a full stomach. She starts to think about last night. Under any normal circumstance, she would've gone further than just kissing. But the question stopped all thoughts of physical intimacy.