Scent (Scomiche)

Pastel Pink Sweaters are Good for More Than Just Plane Rides

I wake up the next morning naked in Scott's arms. He starts to wake up when he feels me shifting around. I lay my head on his chest and use my index finger to trace nonspecific patterns on his ribs.

And though this feels so good and right, my mind just keeps repeating that I'm leaving tomorrow. Like, yeah, I get it, stop telling me.

He removes his arm from under me and stretches, then rests his hand on my head, letting his fingers lightly pick my hair up and let it fall, over and over. I take in the scent of his warm body, but it's not familiar to me. He used to smell like flour or generic soap, and that was attractive to me because I had assimilated that to being a hard-worker in my mind. Now he's still a hard-worker but with a richer scent of yesterday's faded cologne.

"Good morning," he says, groggy and sexy.

"Morning," I reply, probably sounding squeaky in comparison.

He takes a big breath in and turns a little to check the time. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Just some cereal or something would be fine."

"You got it. Do you want me to bring it to you?"

I laugh quietly at his sweetness. "No, I'll come down. I might just rinse off first."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll just go lay out the selection for you."

He peels himself away from me and climbs out of bed, not seeming to care about what parts I can see of him. Which like, yeah, I saw it all last night, but now it's all bright and real in here. I'll just stay under the covers. He throws on some boxers and a t-shirt and winks at me before leaving the room.

Once he's gone, I slip on my underwear from last night and sneak into the bathroom, rinsing off, scrubbing the dried sweat away. It's kind of weird that I get sad while it washes away, but if I kept it on I would've felt gross and a little guilty. But watching the water go down the drain is a harsh reminder of the kind of relationship I've gotten myself into.

I wrap a towel around me when I get out and change into my normal clothes which I have stuffed back inside the suitcase on my bedroom floor. Then, quickly, before I go down for breakfast, I scoop up my clothes that are strewn across Scott's carpet in his room, and then I shove them back into my suitcase, even lower than all my other clothes, as if I could get caught for doing something wrong. I will never be able to wear that sweater again without remembering the time Scott tore it off of me.

Downstairs, I find Lindsey sleepily making her cereal selection from what's laid out on the table while Scott sets out bowls and spoons.

"Morning Linds," I yawn, heading right for the Froot Loops.

She waves tiredly, then snatches a box of Life, pouring it into her bowl and then sitting down.

"What to drink?" Scott asks us.

"Coffee," I answer.

"Orange juice," Lindsey says, now letting milk slosh into her bowl.

Scott serves us our drinks then joins us with his own cup of coffee. He chooses Life as well, and we all eat without speaking too much. I don't think Scott likes that, so when he goes for his second bowl before either me or Lindsey has finished our first, he starts discussing our plan for the day.

"I'm thinking we'll head to Chicago and have lunch and see some of the basic landmarks. We don't need to spend the whole day there because Mitch saw some of the city last night, but we can window shop or something, too."

Lindsey asks, "When are we leaving?"

"As soon as everyone is ready. I'm thinking we can go to Willis Tower, grab lunch, then visit The Bean in Millennium Park. Do you remember that, Linds?"