Altogether unusual

Confusion

'I feel the darkness seeping into me slowly, as if seeing if it likes its new snack. I can only assume that I'm delicious to the darkness, because it takes over me.'

Violet Turner

I wake up in the morning totally confused. I rub my eyes and pull the cover over my head. I really need some more sleep. But as I settle myself comfortably under the duvet, the smell wakes me up completely. His smell. So sensual and unearthly, combined with the dark heart of ancient wood. Plus something else. Something which took me a while to put a name on. The scent of freshly cut paper, like when you sniff a new book. Jonathan smells like that. I like to believe he has spent so much time among books, that he has caught their smell. Last night's remembrance hits me like a shovel in the face. I had sex with Jonathan. Holly shit! I turn my head, without even a breath, to check if he's there. I sigh in relief. Not there. Phew! Now what?

Wait! Where is he? I look around and I see all the clothes we threw on the floor last night. And Loki be my witness, I have no wish to get back in those, not right now. Not until I wash up. So I sneak to the bathroom like a thief and take a shower. I'm sour all over. I hurt to wash, to move my head, even to walk. I don't remember having felt like this back then, when it first happened. There is a sweet, delicious heaviness in my bones. And it's not like after one works out at the gym. No, it's nothing like it. I'd rather describe it like having his body heavy in mine, lingering there, even after all traces of him are washed away.

I dress up quickly and pull off the covers to fix the bed. I know. I'm fucking mental, but I feel the need to put something in order. Now that everything else is in shambles. The sheet has blood spots where I slept. Oh God! How the fuck is that still possible? What the hell am I going to do? I cannot leave this here. I pull the sheet off and make it into a ball. I look around like I'm trapped. Now what?

"Good morning, Clarisse!" At the sound of his voice I jump slightly and turn to him, with the stupid bloody sheet balled up in my hands.

"Morning!" I say and I just stand there, looking at him. He wears a simple black t-shirt with trousers and a jacket. What a man! I grasp for air only at the sight of him. Where did the fucking air disappear, for crying out loud? It seems to me he has grown since I last saw him, he's more mature, more imposing as a figure. As always his blue eyes remind me of something, but I cannot recall the exact thing. Beautiful colour. It looks surreal. I'm not trying to be cheesy, or incredibly stupid for using clichés, but his eyes do look surreal.

"Are you stealing my sheets, or what?" He's closer now, just in front of me. I feel my face becoming red.

"They are dirty....uhm....from last night....when we...you...it's not from you. Fuck! It's blood. From me. Sorry!" While I stutter like I've become brainless all of the sudden, he chuckles with his hand on his beautiful mouth. It's the first time I see the crinkles he gets around his eyes when he laughs, ever since I came to his house last night. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him smiling since the time he came at my house to celebrate my first tattoo. And I know it is normal, with what our friendship has been through, and what he's going through right now, but I always seem to miss them greatly. Those crinkles, I mean. They kind of reach the skin under his eyes and his cheeks a little. So, even if he is so serious most of the times, when he smiles, he smiles with all his face. I love that about him.

He takes the sheet and tosses it aside, not taking his eyes off me.

"Love, I have to go now. Have some things to handle. Eve is downstairs, she'll be taking you home." The realisation of what he says floors me. I'm jealous of that sheet now. Of anything lifeless.