When We Met

Twenty Four

|Donovan|

My eyes ease open to a morning that has decided to be my haven for a very long time. It feels like the beginning of a new beginning; a typical start from scratch. Every heart broken girl yearns for this feeling, and today, I've actually achieved it for good.

It's strange how things untangle themselves from the trickiest knots of all mankind. All you have to do is let them be on their own, and not interfere even for the slightest. Because, obviously, the only obstacle ever constructed is because of the sole existence of human beings.

We are the mood wreckers, and we blame everyone for it. Touché.

Dylan Martin is the ring master of the circus that is well alive inside my belly. Yes, it isn't a zoo anymore. It's a bloody untrained circus, with all the goons in the vicinity.

My eye lids flutter open and the first thing that I notice is the electrifying feeling of skin against skin. The morning seems even more glorious than the previous one, and when I realise what the reason behind all this fluttery is, I shy away into the embrace of embarrassment and well... Disbelief.

Last night was like a dream. I would've assumed that it was all a dream, had it not been for the constant exhale of air right on the nape of my neck.

Dylan's face is nuzzled against the crook between my face and shoulder. His chin rests solemnly on my collar bone and his arm is draped possessively around my waist. The bed sheet is sprawled allover our slumbered bodies and the aura is rather peaceful and caring. My bare shoulder is pressed against his naked chest and our limbs are entangled into a comfortable position.

All in all, I am not dreaming.

As I enter into a state of consciousness post a long yet romantic night, Dylan's light snores tingle the skin below my ear. Maybe it's just the thought of enjoying the best embrace ever that is playing tricks on my mind.

I do nothing to get out of the most unrealistic position ever.

In fact, I don't even realise when I doze off into another deep slumber.

******

The shower head shoots warm droplets of water over my frigid body. They trail down to every inch of my skin and make me release a sigh of satisfaction. I might be dizzy with extra sleep, but a quick shower always lightens up my mood without any useless delay.

I grab my shower gel and massage my scalp, as whispered song lyrics escape from my lips. It reminds me of the sweetest good morning I got not fifteen minutes ago.

I had woken up to gentle kisses being rained over my shoulder. The feeling was so exhilarating that I hadn't taken any time to let my eyes open wide. Initially, I'd assumed that the morning after would be extremely awkward. And it kinda was, until Dylan lightened the mood by joking about him ruining my bed sheets for good.

We laughed all the awkwardness out and stayed in bed for ten whole minutes, holding each other so close that even a housefly would find it hard to squish between us.

That's until I pushed Dylan inside my washroom and asked him to get ready as I cleaned the bedroom, just like my daily routine. I don't know why, but he makes fun of this weird Monica syndrome I've developed. As if I really care. Actually, I do. That's why I didn't tell him that I had a plan of stripping the room clean, and that too, behind his back. A girl can try.

Once he was out, he took the responsibility of cooking breakfast whilst I ran for the much awaited shower. It's a good thing to have a guy who knows how to cook. Saves you from all the kitchen-ly trouble and what not.

So, here I am.

I turn off the knob and get out of the shower. With my fluffy towel, I wipe my body and wear a rose pink bath robe. As I apply some lotion, I notice the faint red scars allover my neck and collarbones. A few more hours, and they'll turn into an ugly shade of purple.

My eyes widen and I hug the bathrobe severely close to me; my heartbeat skyrocketing to nothingness. But then, something snaps and I let it rest. Doesn't matter anyway, does it? Instead of being in denial, I must embrace what's in front of me.

Without changing into my clothes, I walk out of the bathroom and head straight for the kitchen, from where I can smell something really good.

Dylan's tall frame is bent over the stove and his right arm is flailing around in a rhythmic fashion. The sizzling sound of semi cooked vegetables in a pan surrounds me from all corners. I tip toe my way towards him and jump on his shoulders.

He is taken by surprise and the stirrer falls from his grip. I burst out laughing but don't leave his severely sculpted shoulders at all. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and let him hoist me up on his shirtless back. He simmers down the flame on the stove so that the vegetables don't end up getting roasted, and gives me a piggyback ride. I laugh louder as the kid in me comes alive.

I've always loved piggyback rides. As a child, my father used to carry me on this back all around the house and let me stand on his shoulders, because I had a weird obsession with being extra tall. Abnormally tall. It gave me a sense of power and somehow, it boosted my confidence during those brilliant years of my childhood. The thought of my family makes me a little homesick. I do miss my parents, even though the relationship has strained over the years. To put my finger on how and when it all began, I'd say that the moment I moved out of my house for better opportunity was the moment I unknowingly bid a goodbye to the warm and familial life I once had.

Well, Dylan does a good job of distracting me. And I appreciate it wholeheartedly.

He plops me on the couch and hovers over me, a cheeky grin visible on his handsome face. His gaze lands on my neck and his eyes darken a little.

"Looks like you've had a highly romantic night, Ms. Donovan." He says in that hoarse, early morning tone that always catches me off-guard. In a good way, might I add.

"Hmm. Or maybe that's a contagious animal bite." I reply cheekily. "You should probably stay away."

"Are you calling me an animal?"

"Maybeee." I drag and his knuckles make a quick contact with my exposed skin. I shiver in response.

"You bet." With that, he buries his face in the crook of my neck and leaves soft pecks allover the place. My breath hitches and I picture myself with a bright red neck.

I'll look like a clown, but who cares?

He removes the robe over my right shoulder and kisses there, leaving a spark of desire throughout my body.

Oh my god, I think I will–

The faint smell of burnt vegetables stops me from having a hangover and I gently push Dylan away. He looks at me with an adorable frown and I gape at him in awe. He's too good to be true.

"I know I'm a good distraction for you, but I suppose something is burning." I say and that's when realisation hits his senses.

"Fuck." He gets up and rushes inside the kitchen, the sound of sizzled stirring becoming too loud.

I giggle to myself and pull up my bathrobe. I find Dylan's shirt rested safely on the table and grab it before chucking down my robe and pulling it over my body. It reaches till my mid thighs and envelopes me completely. I smile happily and hop my way into the kitchen.

Turns out, Dylan managed to not wreck our breakfast. He's making vegetable noodles with some curry, and I'm finding it highly impossible to not jump on him right now.

How is he so perfect?

He turns around and finds me smiling at him. I take his outstretched hand and let him pull me towards the stove. He makes me stand in front of him and cages my body with his arms; one hooked around my waist and the other busy with the noodles. His cheek is pressed flush against mine and I place my hand over his to act like I'm the one who's cooking.

It looks like a scene from a romantic comedy; picture perfect and highly magical.

And that's when the ever intruding doorbell goes off. 
*********