From the Ashes

[33] Flood of Light

The sound of light rain pattering on the window greets me when I wake up. The room is lit by a dull, grey light from the overcast sky outside, and I turn my head to see Roman lying asleep on the pillow beside me. He’s on his side, his body curled in an ‘L’ shape. One of his arms is slid underneath me, the other draped over my stomach from where I lie tucked into the curve made by his body. I lie on my back, my legs propped in a tent shape under the covers as they drape over his. His breathing is slow and regulated, the gentle gusts gracing my chin and neck. His dark hair is messed up from sleeping. One of my arms is lying on top of his on my stomach, and the one closest to his body is propped against his bare chest. My hand cups his neck and jaw, my fingers touching the side of his face. I blink at him silently in the dreary-day light, studying him.

It was weird to think back to last night, remembering that driving need to have him here with me. Yes, a need. I had needed him there, needed to hold him as tightly as I could, needed to comfort him in the best way I know. Needed to let him know how much I cared.

Cared?

How much did I care for Roman Spade?

Seeing his scars, hearing the way he told me the brief story... It sparked that need. Knowing the pain he’s felt, the physical and emotional burden he carries from day to day, never to go away... Of course I cared for him. Apparently a lot more than I even realized myself. Last night was Saturday night? That means it has been a little over a week since Roman and I had really met. We spent so much time together in that long week. And somewhere in there, a change occurred in the way I feel about him, as well as the way I view him. When I first met him, he came off as cocky, bull headed, self-absorbed, and promiscuous. And he treated me then like he treated everyone else. When had his view of me changed? Both of the changes happened so gradually, I can’t even begin to trace them. But now... He was strong, fiery... Full of spirit, wit, and care. A little more than a week ago, he was looking down at me with his cocky grins and calculated attitude, and I spat it right back in his face.

Now we are lying in my bed, together for the summer, wrapped in each other’s arms.

My thoughts are overwhelming. A week? One tiny week? This is moving far too quickly... I don’t care what change happened, where it happened, when it happened.

With a flush of panic, I know this is just... too much, too soon. I have now slept with this kid twice. Of course, it was literally just sleeping, the state of rest the body takes by becoming unconscious, but that in itself is so close, so intimate. It’s basically cuddling close and together all night. We aren’t even in a relationship, or anything. We don’t have that bond, that promise, and being here in Roman’s arms suddenly feels strange.

I screw my eyes shut tight, hating what my thoughts do to my emotions. I slide my hand off of Roman’s cheek, move his arm from around my stomach, and carefully crawl out of bed into the slightly chilly air of the room. He stirs with a soft groan as I fish through an open drawer for clothes.

“...Allie?” His groggy, scratchy morning-voice calls softly from the room I fled as I pad quickly down the hall to the bathroom. I change pretty fast into jeans and a floral tank top, wishing I had packed at least a hoodie for the cooler weather. Raking my hands through my fading pink hair, I open the door to the bathroom to scurry downstairs.

At least, I would if Roman wasn’t filling the doorframe, both hands resting on either side of it. I halt, startled. His hair is still messy, and he’s still shirtless, clothed in black sports shorts. He gazes down at me with those eyes, his look questioning, but firm. I just stare back up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His voice is still rough from sleep, giving it a deeper, husky quality.

Oh, geez. Then there’s that whole ‘attraction’ thing. God damn it.