Reckless

Chapter 7

Reck·less (Adj) [ rékləss ] without thought of danger: marked by a lack of thought about danger or other possible undesirable consequences

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A strong hand wrapped around my shoulder, "Blaike, time to wake up, okay?" The voice was distant, and muffled. I ignored it, too tired to pull myself out of my slumber; too tired  to pull my eyelids open. However, I was already pulled out of my subconscious. I could hear the whirring of the escalators and the ding of cashiers; the airport was busy, despite the time of day or night. I had fallen asleep to such sounds and I woke to them as well. 

The voice tried again, "C'mon Blaike, we have to board soon." The hand left my shoulder and moved to my cheek. It caressed my face, leaving a trail of electricity from my temple down to my jaw. The warm fingers moved to my chin and held my face but still rubbed the spot just below my lips and right next to my chin. 

In quick realization, the hand disappeared as quickly as it had come, but instead of completely leaving it decided to briefly tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, and then it was gone, no longer leaving traces of heat. 

I longed for the hand to my face, to caress and lull me back to sleep. However, I finally decided to pull myself out of sleep. I didn't really want to hear I had to wake up again, even two times kind of irked me. My eyes found the escalators and then a face close to mine. His mouth was open, a sentence sitting on his lips, about to coax my out of my sleep.  

I rubbed my eyes and groaned. "How long was I asleep?"  

"Almost five and a half hours." Quentin's smile grew as my eyes grew wider. 

"What did you do for those five hours?" I asked, curious.  

"I sat next to you." He spoke plainly, and then stopped to think; debating almost, as if he was wondering whether to tell me something or not. His brows knit together and finally they relaxed. His eyes grew brighter in amusement and so did his mouth. Out escaped a laugh. "You drooled." He laughed in between words. 

My face scalded red, and the desire to dig a hole and die sky rocketed immediately. "Oh my gosh," my voice muffled from burying my face in my hands. Only Quentin's laugh pulled me out of my hands.  

"Don't worry about it; right now we have to worry about catching our flight."  

I gripped my thighs and pushed myself up. My face pinched in pain as I unlocked my knees and heard them crack. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Quentin pull his hand back from offering to help me up. Guilt hit me in the stomach, I spied his hands buried in his pockets.  

A sign of disconnection. 

We walked side by side but not close enough to feel normal. 

Another sign of disconnection. Goodness, I keep track of these any longer and this is gonna get depressing, I thought to myself.

What had I done to immediately make him distance himself? Did I smell bad? My deodorant only lasted twenty four hours and I had lost track of time.