12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter fourteen

f o u r t e e n

*

Paisley's in my bed. I expected that, but I didn't expect her to be sprawled out across my entire double bed like she owns the place, the duvet kicked up around her body and tangled in her legs. If it was earlier, I'd poke her, or shove her over to one side, but it's almost eleven o'clock and she's out cold.

The TV never went back on after she went to bed. Casper and I stayed up for nearly two hours, just ... talking. After he left me flustered with his toast, we talked about family when he asked about Paisley, and I ended up rambling about all of my sisters in an attempt to ignore the powerful heat radiating from my cheeks.

From every part of my body, really. The moment his lips touched my forehead, he lit a fire in me that I spent the next two hours trying to douse, digging out a half-empty second bottle from the depths of the fridge when I needed a top-up. Now, four glasses later, I'm woozy and lightheaded and I don't have the energy to force a space for myself in my own bed so, grumbling to myself, I change into my onesie and grab a blanket.

It's the sofa for me, I guess.

At least the sitting room's warm, with the dying embers of the fire, and it's surprisingly nice to be accompanied by the lights of the Christmas tree. The brightness ebbs and flows so gently that I hardly notice it as I move cushions around to make myself comfortable on the sofa. I should've known there was no way Paisley and I would end up sharing a bed, whether she consciously took it or not, and I should have made her take the sofa. It's much more Paisley-sized than Beth-sized.

I know I'm not going to sleep well. I'm too used to my bed, which knows my body and cradles it to sleep. The sofa is hard and foreign, only good for drifting off in the evening before bed calls, and I spend a few minutes shifting until I decide it's probably not going to get much more comfortable than this, and I pull my blanket over my shoulders.

The house is silent. I'm used to a silent house, considering I've lived alone for four years, but it's a different kind of silence now, knowing that there are two people sleeping upstairs, and I find myself listening out for the smallest noises, signs of life. There aren't any. I already know Casper's a quiet sleeper after sharing a wall with him for the past five nights and I know that Paisley sleeps like a corpse, yet I keep expecting to hear a rumbling snore.

There's nothing. I'm tired, but too awake to fall asleep right now so I dig out the remote and switch the TV back on, turning the volume way down low. The internet's back up so I load up Elf. It carries on from where we were interrupted, right as Buddy lets out the most ridiculous burp after downing litres of Coke, and I let out a contented sigh as I sink back onto the sofa.

And then I do hear something. A soft thump, almost imperceptible except for the fact that I'm actively listening out for something. The creak of a door that I know belongs to the bathroom, stiff hinges in need of oiling. The flush of the loo, and then soft footsteps padding down the carpeted stairs. I squint across the room, my eyes adjusting to the screen-lit dark enough to see Casper choosing each footstep carefully, gripping the handrail tightly.

"Ow, fuck," he mutters when he bumps into the wall.

If he wasn't tipsy when he toasted me then the extra two hours of drinking and talking ensured that he was by the time we went our separate ways, and I try not to laugh as I watch him navigating the stairs. There are only sixteen steps but he manages to bump the wall a few times and he forgets to duck beneath the awkward beam that catches his forehead.

As he reaches the end, the Christmas tree lights start to get brighter again and he squints in the dark, peering in my direction.

"Beth?" He carefully picks his way across the floor, catching himself when he trips over the cushions I threw off the sofa. "What're you doing down here? I thought you went to bed."