Song: Adele – One and Only
Aug 19, 2012
3 days before Samantha's death.
"Harry..."
No answer. The first rays of the sun barely penetrate the room and the star-spangled ceiling still shines. He lies on his stomach with his hand under the pillow and his head buried in it. He's sleeping. She sits astride his back and leans down to kiss his neck.
"Haz..." she whispers in his ear, gently biting the lobe.
"Wake up..." he grumbles and she smiles, stroking his hips.
"Baby..." he grumbles again, pushing his head even deeper into his pillow.
"Come on."
Her hands slide down his back. He's shivering. And she knows she won. She's again stroking his hips and he whispers, turning.
"Letmesleep."
She can't help laughing she likes it when he grumbles in the morning. He has a lovely sleepy and husky voice. She kisses his shoulder.
"Don't make me tickle you." grumbling again. He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to wake up. He wants to sleep about... 300 hours.
"I'm actually gonna do it."
She starts ticking him.
"Grrrmph, Sam."
When he hears her laugh he can't hold back a smile. He gives up. He knows that everything was lost from the beginning. He always loses when it comes to her. He opens his eyes and with a skillful movement changes positions, finding himself on top. He gently squeezes her to the mattress, sitting between her legs. He strokes her face with his hands and leans on his elbows so as not to crush her.
"One day, I'll kick you out."
She smiles looking at his sleepy eyes and strokes the pillow mark on his cheek.
"You'll never do that."
"I'll do."
"No."
"I hate you."
"Me too."
Now he smiles, a gently kind smile before kissing her.
***
He liked to sleep. She always woke at first light. He was lucky that morning. Usually, she puts on a vinyl record, starts singing and dancing, jumping on the bed until he finally opens his eyes. He grumbled and the more he grumbled, the more she like it. The more she liked it, the more she smiled. And the more she smiled, the more he loved her.
They had their own habits and even if he hated waking up so early, he loved every one of them.
"I want you, Harry."
That morning, they made love. Their bodies intertwined amid white sheets. They were as gentle as ever. Their caresses, their breaths, their groaning are mingling. They knew each other by heart. She was thinking of his pleasure. He thought of her. He loved every breath she took. She loved to feel him inside of her as if he was giving her a piece of him. They loved being one. She felt safe in his arms and he liked her safe. The bond between them was strong and powerful. Indestructible.
They didn't like words. All that "I love you" stuff wasn't for them. They didn't need it.
If he'd known that was the last time they'd made love, the words would have come out of his mouth:
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The Degradation
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