Then There Was You

XV

The next morning, I'm woken by the sun shining brightly through the thin beige curtains. I feel like I've been hit by a bus. The pain in my ankle is worse. My head throbs painfully, there's a cold ache settled into my bones, my mouth feels as if I haven't had a drink in days and my heart feels pained and oddly hollow.
It's a massive effort trying to get myself to sit up. It takes me a couple of minutes, but I manage, my heart pounding from the struggle.
I startled slightly as I see Henry lying asleep on the floor. I'm surprised he's still here. He stayed with me all night. My heart lightens at the thought. I hope I didn't snore.

I take the opportunity to look upon him as he slept. He looks so at peace, and young.
His long childish eyelashes look almost absurd in comparison to his sculpted, manly features. His stubble was longer and darker than I'd seen it before. I idly wondered how it would feel under my fingertips. His pouty lips slightly parted, I've never seen a man with such a defined Cupid's bow before. He had lips that would make even some women jealous.
He stirred then, his brows pulling together and his lips pursing. It was enough to make me jump and look away. As if he had caught me staring. But he was still asleep. Looking at him had briefly drawn my attention away from my aching body. But I could no longer ignore the burning thirst in my throat.

Slowly, so not to wake him, I slip myself carefully out of bed. I don't think I'll be able to make it to the kitchen without hurting myself, so I grab onto the wall and limp towards the bathroom. Once there, I gently close the door before I go about my business. I drink the water straight from the tap, the muscles in my neck protesting painfully at movement. I decide to brush my teeth, to try and get rid of the horrible taste in my mouth. It's a good idea, I feel much better when my mouth is clean.
Against my better judgment, I look at myself in the mirror. It's a mistake. I look terrible.
My hair is tangled wildly, the back of my head resembling a copper birds nest. I groan as I realise it's going to take me at least ten minutes to brush my hair. My skin looks sickly pale, my eyes ringed with black smudges from my mascara. There's matching black streaks running down my cheeks from where I've been crying. Horrified, I can't believe I've let Henry see me like this.

The only resolution is a shower. I grab a brush, sit myself down on the toilet and begin the gruelling process of unknotting my hair.
I stand one legged in the shower as I wash myself; silently thanking years of dancing for my balance. It takes me longer than usual to clean myself, but I manage nonetheless. I turn the temperature dial as hot as it can go, and let the burning water soothe me, and seep into my cold bones.
Afterwards, the pain has considerably lessened- even my ankle feels more bearable. Clutching the towel tightly around my body, I hobble back the the bedroom.

When I open the bathroom door again, he's awake. He's sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning hugely; the tendons in his neck straining. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, before he opens them, startling as he sees me.
"Hey," I say quietly, feeling suddenly shy. I'm mostly embarrassed about my behaviour from last night, but also for the fact I'm standing in front of him wearing only a towel. For the second time this week.
He looks at me carefully, gauging my mood. His dark hair tousled, his eyes and lips puffy from sleep, making him look even more handsome.
"How are you feeling?" His voice thick with sleep. Does he know how attractive he sounds?
"Better," I manage, recollecting my thoughts.

He gets up from the floor awkwardly, the way a person does after sleeping on a hard floor all night. His face looks pained, as he stretches his lean body, rolling his shoulders and neck. He sighs pleasurably as he relives his sore muscles. I feel even more guilty for not asking him to share my bed.
"Thank you for staying with me," I say finally, not sure how to put into words how grateful I am for his presence.
He looks at me and smiles, before moving towards me, causing my heart to jump.
He hesitantly holds out his hands for me to take, his eyes careful, as if he's asking my permission. I let him support me, and he helps me sit back down the bed.

"How's the ankle?" He asks, his eyes roaming down my legs. He suddenly crouches in front of me, and very gently lifts my right leg up in both hands, and places it lightly on his knees. I take a startled gasp, and I'm suddenly relieved that I shaved my legs last night.
He looks up at me alarmed at the sound, thinking he's hurt me.
"I'm alright," I reassure him in a breathy voice. He watches my expression for a moment, his eyes searching for any signs of pain or reluctance. Whatever he sees, it seems to satisfy him. And carefully begins to examine my ankle.

His touch is feather light; his fingertips barely touching the swollen, red skin. But I feel my skin blaze pleasurable as he trails his fingers over my ankle. He experimentally turns and squeezes it this way and that; carefully watching my expression the whole time. I keep my face neutral as possible, so not to show that I'm secretly enjoying myself.
"How does that feel?" He asks solemnly, his voice strained.
"Okay," I lie. More like amazing. His lips twitch- fighting off a smile. I blush furiously, pulling at the bottom of my towel, trying to tuck it tighter between my thighs. His eyes flash up at the movement, and then quickly back down to my ankle.

Without thinking or hesitation, he bends his head down towards my foot, lifting my leg higher. I hold my breath, my heart stuttering nervously, as I watch his lips gently kiss my ankle. I shudder, as a hot ripple of pleasure shoots up from my ankle, snaking up my leg and then pools warmly between my thighs.
"There," he says, gently placing my foot back on the floor, "All better."
My head spins slightly and I realise I'm still holding my breath. I suck precious air back into my lungs, hoping he doesn't notice. But he does. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me for a long time. His blue eyes blazing hotly into mine. I can feel my face heat and the air between us charge with electricity. My hands clench into fists as I try to resist the impossible urge to touch him. I can't look away from him, the intensity of his eyes is overwhelming. My body feels like it's about to burst into flames.

Suddenly he coughs loudly, clearing his throat; effectively breaking the stifling tension between us. I'm finally free. I tear my eyes from him and look strictly at the wall behind him, trying to get my frazzled equilibrium back in order. That was interesting.
"I should go," his voice is quiet and hoarse; a way I've never heard before, "Do you need someone to help you dress?" I flush furiously thinking he means himself, and I forget to hide the shock from my face.
"Oh no," he says quickly, registering my fearful expression, "What I meant was, I could go get Erica or something."
"Oh," I say dumbly. Of course he didn't mean himself. "I should manage on my own... Thanks though."

He nods at me, raising his eyebrows in relief as our awkward moment passes.
"I'll come see you later?" He asks as he stands. His expression hopeful- he's asking my permission again.
"I'd like that," I say honestly. The longing in my voice shocks me.
"Alright then," he says smiling down at me. He walks slowly out my room, he's leaving but there's something about his movements that look unwilling. Like he doesn't really want to go. And I don't want him to.
I sigh sadly, and I feel suddenly depressed.
He looks back at me and smiles.
"Bye Lara," he says, I can hear the reluctance in his voice.
"Bye," I breathe, my voice matching his.
This makes him laugh and then he's gone.