Coma (Slowly Editing)

Day Four - Part Two

“Now what?” I panted, shoving the cardboard box back underneathe Seymour’s bed. I let out a long breath and slumped against the side of it. Finally. I was done putting everything back in its place. I looked up at Seymour and immediately regretted it. He was lying on the bed with his eyes closed and his arms supporting his head, a picture of perfect ease. His shirt had slid up a little, showing an inch or two his stomach which, even in (almost) death, looked good enough to lick. Anna likey likey.

“Take a picture, honey, it lasts longer,” he murmured without looking at me.

“I would, but you’re invisible,” I retorted, tearing my eyes away to hide my blush.

“Ouch, that was a low blow.”

“You’ve heard much worse than that from me.”

“True,” he grinned. I heard a rustle and risked a glance. He had turned onto his side and was smirking down at me from the bed. Don’t stare at his stomach, don’t stare at his stomach, don’t stare at his stomach even though it looked nice and smooth and kind of dreamy and very, very delicious. His eyes, a stormy grey-blue normally, were clear as a Philadelphian sky and lit up with amusement as he studied my face.

“So...” he drawled out the word, his voice low and warm. “What do you want to do next?”

I breathed through my mouth. “Not you,” I managed to force out.

His smirk grew. “I wasn’t thinking about that, butsince it is clearly on your mind...”

UGH. “It’s not!” I snapped.

“Touched a nerve, did I?”

“As if! Nothing’s on my mind! I...I...I’m going to go home before I get caught in your stupid house!” I clamoured up to my feet and dashed forward, but one of my foot got caught on the leg of the bed. THIS. WAS. NOT. GOOD. Before I knew it, I was heading for the floor face first, gravity be damned.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed, my arms flailing about wildly.

“Annalise!” Seymour jumped up from the bed in alarm, his arms stretching out to try and catch me. But it was too late. I hit the floor with a dull but undeniably loud thud, very much like the sound a sack of potatos make when they get dropped on cold cement.

There was a few second of shocked silence from Seymour as I lay on the floor, too humiliated to move. Then I heard a scuttle, followed by his face appearing just inches away from mine.

“Anna? Are you alright?” he asked, his brows furrowing in concern.  

“Gaaaaaaaah,” I managed to groan. “Aaaaahhhh, gaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh....” I raised a hand limply and tried to point at my butt. “Aaahhhh...”

“You know, usually girls only make these sounds after they get into bed with me,” Seymour said.

I gave him my most intimidating glare, but it was a little dimmed by the fact that I’d just fallen flat on my face right in front of him.

“Just...help me...up,” I choked out. I think I broke my butt . And my back. And the last shred of my dignity. He pulled me to my feet.

“Are you alright?” he asked, watching  as I hobbled from one foot to the other.

“I just fell on my butt, what do you think?”

“That you’re a complete idiot,” he replied, straightfaced.

“Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better,” I grumbled.

“Aw, don’t be a grumpy pot,” he teased. “Here, sit down. I’ll get you some ice.”