The Difference Between Getting and Needing

e l e v e n

somehow i'm full of forgiveness,
i guess it's meant to b e . . .

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I was the first one up the next morning. No alarms, no rude awakenings, no disturbances. My internal clock had my eyes opening at seven on the dot and when I came to, it seemed like neither Gus or I moved at all overnight. We were in exactly the same position from when we fell asleep.

It had me temporarily debating if I should go to bed before nine every night. The thought then became an impossibility when I remembered I was twenty-three and that would never happen.

Gus was still dormant when I slithered out of his arms, but Ziggy was up when he sensed me make the first move to leave the bed. That dog had a way of knowing my every move, especially when it was around the time for him to eat. I had to give him credit though, he definitely wasn't stupid that's for sure.

The two of us crept out to the kitchen after I slid my feet into a pair of slippers, neglecting to put on pants and figuring Gus' oversized t-shirt would suffice. Without making too much of a ruckus, I turned on the coffee maker and got together Ziggy's breakfast.

He gobbled it all up before the coffee even had a chance to start brewing.

"Damn, dude. It's like I never feed you," I muttered, kneeling down by his bowl to pet him as he nuzzled his head into my hand.

While scratching his chin, I stretched my other arm out behind me to open the cabinet that housed all of Ziggy's things like food, treats, medicine, brushes, and so on. Usually he could hear us opening the door to it from a mile away, but he was too zoned into my scratches to notice.

I sneakily grabbed a treat for him and kept it hidden in my fist. It didn't take long for him to catch a whiff of it, his eyes ogling my hand and the tip of his tail twitching.

"Gimme your paw," I told him, and he did exactly that after sitting down. "Other one. Okay, good boy. Here you go."

The fake bacon in my palm was gone in the blink of an eye. I just smiled at him, giving him one last pat on his head before standing up.

Since our coffee maker always seemed to be in its own world and took centuries to do its job, I hopped on top of the island versus taking a seat at one of the stools and scrolled through my phone to kill some time.

There was something so strangely fulfilling about sitting on a counter top instead of a chair. The only downside was how shockingly cold the surface was against the back of my bare thighs, which had a hiss involuntarily leaving my lips when it happened.

It was rare that I got to have a morning to myself in our apartment. Gus would routinely be the first one awake, followed by Ziggy who got up whenever anyone made any sort of movement because it meant breakfast, and then I was last. Due to Gus' dalliance with a whole lot of whiskey and Irish cream yesterday at the luncheon, today was different.

I took it all in; the serenity I had no idea my apartment was capable of having. The moments I often missed in the mornings because I was either sleeping or pressed for time, forever unable to have an easygoing start to my days. It was a type of calm I wasn't used to. The only way our place was ever this peaceful was when it followed an argument or we were just too tired to communicate.

It was so sublime that I almost didn't notice the toilet in our bathroom flushing.

My eyebrows knit themselves together, staring at our open bedroom door and waiting for a sign of life. A minute later, the culprit emerged. Gus, with the unmistakable glow of a hangover radiating off of him and a pair of well worn gray joggers as his only form of apparel. The sight made me smirk.