Lips Like Coffee

cup: 21

NORMA

Pen was worried about me. I hadn't slept for two days, and stayed huddled on one side of the couch. My eyes hurt from the dryness of not blinking, and my throat was sore. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink. He would set glasses of water on the coffee table for me, and they would sit untouched until he exchanged it for another cold one.

After the third day, I blinked. Pen had just walked through the front door, a basket of laundry on his hip, and stopped dead when he looked at me. The basket dropping to his feet, Pen rushed over to me and knelt down in front of the couch.

"Puddin," he said softly.

His hand was poised in the air near my face, but he closed it into a fist as he put it back down. I continued to watch him, and he hung his head with a sigh as he stood to his feet again. As much as I wanted to say something to him, I couldn't. My mind was numb, and my body didn't feel like my own. I didn't feel human.

As day turned to night, I still hadn't moved. Pen had his long body curled on the couch next to me, and the television illuminated the otherwise dark room.

My freedom is worth a life.

I tried to repeat these words in my head, but it hurt too much to think and I didn't want to feel anything.

I blinked as Pen set another glass of water on the table. He stared at me for a moment, then left without saying anything. It felt like eons had passed as I sat, gazing at the glass. The cold sweat pooled at the base of the cup, sure to leave a ring of water on the dark wood once the glass was removed. Water had almost never looked so tantalizing.

Leaning forward, I take the cup in my hand and bring it to my dry lips. It felt like salvation to my throat, and I drank with fervor. My eyes closed as I finished the glass, some of its contents dribbling down my chin in my rush to relieve the dryness. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, then set the cup back on the table. As I sat back on the couch, I wondered if Pen was coming back. He didn't have anything with him when he left, so he couldn't have been going to work --what ever he did.

As if he heard my thoughts, the man himself strode into the apartment. He glanced down at the water glass, then up at me with a glint in his eye (that could have just been the light from the television). Picking it up, Pen went to the kitchen. In no time at all, he came back with another full glass --this one had ice-- and handed it to me. I accepted it, drinking it as quickly as I had drank the first.

"Welcome back," he said with a smile.

He took the empty glass from my hand, then wiped a drop of water from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. Something like electricity coursed through my body, awakening a deep carnal desire that I hadn't experienced before. I wanted more of his touch, but how could I tell him that?

Pen came back, sitting on the couch right next to me. He reached over to me, placing his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me to him. Our foreheads rested against each other's, and his familiar trifecta of a scent washed over me. Was any man supposed to smell this good?

"I was really worried about you," he sighed, rubbing his thumb across my neck.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice just above a whisper.

"You need to see someone, Norma. You can't keep shutting down like that."

"I know."

Pulling apart from me, Pen's eyes glossed over my face as he stared at me. His hand slid from my neck to my cheek, and suddenly I couldn't breathe easy anymore. Although his hands were cold, his touch felt like fire on my skin. I had never wanted to burn in a person's flame until I felt the intensity of his. Pen was a fire I would let consume me.