Rekindle

17

I was up early the next morning. Very early, probably since I had slept so much the day before, but not early enough for it to still be dark out. The sheets were nice and comfortable. I could see outside, and there was no sign of Frank or Lynette. It was raining and cloudy, the month officially turned over to March. There was something calming about rain against rooftops. Daytime, cloudy rain was for spring anyway. Midnight thunderstorms were for summer.

Squirming up and stretching out under the covers, I flopped my arms over top and stared at the ceiling. The previous night wasn't all a blur. I remembered mostly everything in crystal clear vision, but the transitions from one point to another, from living room to on our knees, from hallway to bedroom, from bedroom to bed, on and on—the transitions blurred together in beautiful ways. As I closed my eyes, the reminiscence faded to black and white, to gray and white, and then to white. I thought of nothing for a moment. That's all I needed though, as I opened my eyes to the ceiling again. A sliver of calm to myself to think about what I truly feel, in which the question still remained.

The mass next to me stirred. I looked over at the mess of ink black hair and curved spine, reminiscent of his typical bad sitting posture. The end of his scar was visible, making me cringe. I suddenly felt self conscious about my own, healed for the most part, but if I touched around my right side, then the ridge felt like dinosaur spikes. I hadn't really looked at it yet and wasn't sure I wanted to.

Asher stirred again and lay flat on his stomach, lazily, not fully awake. After turning his head around to face me and tiredly opening an eye, he mumbled, "Morning."

I stretched my arms out and put them behind my head. "Morning."

He yawned and rolled over onto his back, putting his hands behind his head as well. Blinking absentmindedly a few times, he said, "So."

I sighed. "So."

He kept his tired eyes shut. "So, I got laid by a supposed dead girl. Coming here, having intentions to inform said girl's parents of her death."

I snorted with a small grin. "I didn't expect to sleep with someone who's nearly murdered me on more than one occasion."

"Touché," he sighed. "But I thought you were dead. Mine wins."

I rolled my eyes.

He quickly interrupted, "Don't give me attitude."

I chuckled and slipped further under the covers then, turning toward him. "What are we anymore?"

"Couple of teenagers, doing teenager stuff. Sex," he yawned. "Murder."

I sighed again and closed my eyes. "Solid life lesson. 'Kids, if you ever feel like killing someone, remember you may or may not end up sleeping with them.'"

Asher chuckled deeply in a sleepy, slow morning voice. "If I ever hate myself enough to become a parent, remind me to refine the talk."

"The talk about sex, you can call it that," I said. My comment earned a snort and eye roll, eventually turning up into a smile. I turned on my back again and stared up at the ceiling, confident. "Did you know that's all Tom and Bridget ever did?"

"Ever did what?"

"What we did."

"You can call it sex."

"That's dirty."

"You're kidding me right now. Do you not understand what we did. No, do you not know what you said about twenty seconds ago?" He propped himself on his elbow and faced me.

I shot him a glare while he smirked back, triumphantly. "It's different," I snapped, returning my sights to the ceiling. "But that's all Bridget and Tom's relationship was. That and planning attacks."