Golden honeycomb streams into the dim bedroom as shafts of sunlight gradually trickle through the partially drawn pale blue curtain. The gentle morning heat caressed the inhabitant's face and the rays hissed against closed lids. Years serving in the Special Forces had made James a light sleeper and quick to grapple out of unconsciousness. Nights of sleeping on outside the wire areas, hand dug foxholes, debris and cramped hammocks in mosquito infested jungle terrains with threats of ambushes, the enemy firing mortars or rockets and shelling at the middle of the night. Experience had engraved into his mind and every sinew in his body the perfectly honed tactical snooze even with the warzone breathing down his neck in any godforsaken place he had been deployed to.
The cool air of early September received him as the former Captain smoothly roused from sleep and post-slumber lethargy promptly seeped off from him. Eyelids thusly flickered open, revealing deep pools of baby blue. He is much aware of the warmth radiating from next to him as his lips twitch in amusement at the sight as mops of dark honey blonde hair are strewn haphazardly on the pale grey pillow and sheets. His arm was tucked under her head and his other arm was curled around her waist, pressing her back against him with their legs tangled together.
Naturally, he sat up and slowly retracted his arm from under her weight, the mattress faintly shifting from under him at the action. He glanced at the woman next to him and his gaze subliminally fell on the small velvet blue box perched on the nightstand at the right side of the bed. The sight of it is all but taunting him, begetting memories and sentimentalities as his eyes unknowingly soften about.
"It's too early," Brianna groaned out, voice partially muffled against the fluff of her pillow. Even with her facing the opposite direction from him he knew all too well that she had her eyes firmly scrunched shut and a grimace etched her warm squared visage, leaving subtle creases just above slender brows.
She was never a morning person and had even claimed that she couldn't function normally until she had consumed her daily dose of morning tea. He would frequently catch sight of the her sluggishly shambling her way to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of the drink he had routinely prepared for her. She wasn't one to opt for coffee since she hated the tangy aftertaste it left on her tongue. He knew she preferred chamomile tea with a splash of milk during mornings but would sometimes tend towards black tea in stressful ones after late nights of finishing her manuscripts so he had brought it upon himself to prepare the liquid magic, as she would call it, on a day to day basis. The shrill sound of the kettle would naturally draw her out of their shared bedroom and into the kitchen with a mawkishly gauche gait.
He quietly pulled away from the covers, so as not to further disrupt Brianna's continued slumber, and slid off the edge of the bed, padding over to the direction of the adjoining bathroom.
After a satisfying shower, he made his way to the kitchen with the intent of making breakfast and preparing tea. He deftly maneuvered his way around cupboards, cabinets and the stove, flitting from one task to another with minimal clanging from the skillet and other silverwares. The sizzling sound from the skillet immediately filled the kitchen as he cracked open some eggs and poured it over the pan. The disposition of how easily he had slipped into being ordinarily domestic sometimes baffles even himself. If you were to tell him five years ago that he would find himself wielding a spatula instead of the standard C8 Carbine primary assault rifle and living in the peaceful region of Oregon- a far cry from the pandemonium and thrill of the warzone- then he would look at you strangely like you've grown two heads and then straight out laugh derisively. Somehow he didn't dislike the state he was in as of the present and if he was to say, he even relished in the untroubled atmosphere and amicable townspeople of the forested town. Aside from the excellent beers and absence of sales tax, he liked fishing in one of the many lakes of the Coastal state during weekends, as mundane as it sounds, and the fresh air that isn't tinder dry which didn't feel too thick to breathe in.
YOU ARE READING
Drift
Action//Set in the late '90's// When a simple search and rescue operation goes wrong, a troop of soldiers, a tracker and a biologist learns the hard way that the worst nightmares are the ones you have with your eyes wide open.
