The Concept |r. blaney|

nine: sleeping with you

When Gustav died, Cadence launched herself into self destructive mode. If it wasn't for Julia referring her to her therapist, reflecting back— she may not have made it out of the depression she'd been in. As a result of this therapy, she was told to write— for herself rather than for her late fiancé's website (which she'd helped to build from the ground up, day one— beginning on her eighteenth birthday.)

So rather than sitting at the computer, typing on a keyboard, emotionless— she was told to sit outside. A notebook, journal, or even a scrap paper, in her lap, physically watching the words loop into what could later be perceived as poetry... though her personal thoughts were just that, and under no circumstances would they be shared with the world.

She wrote about a number of things, but the most prominent recurring topic that surfaced, was falling asleep.

A simple task; everyone does it. Some can't as easily as others, as insomnia riddles their minds. It's a strange thing: you shut your eyes and drift away from reality. To a place where fairy tales are real and lore can come to life.

It's what formulates dreams. Dreams, aspirations, goals— they're all the same.

Except, Cadence had once been living the dream. She owned her dream home, had the man of her dreams, and a career that paved the way for her. Yet, her writing of sleep wasn't the fundamental, beautiful, dreamy escape that could be taken for granted so easily.

No, rather, she focused on the emotion that struck her each and every night. And that was falling asleep asleep alone, every night. It was so lonely. Especially after sleeping beside someone every day of your life. (Okay, slight exaggeration. For upperhand of half a decade... at least. That's still a significant amount of time to imprint a routine on your mind.)

Even so, did she admit that this was the first time lying in her bed since the accident?

No. And Ryan didn't notice.

Instead, he sat crisscross shoveling ice cream in his mouth straight out of the carton as she surfed the TV for something interesting to watch. Having Ryan over probably wasn't the best of ideas, but he offered to fly to Arizona to visit for the week before the next race. And she owned a luxurious four bedroom home, why not put it to use?

"Ever seen it?" He asked, nodding to the tv show title illuminated as she tore her attention from the TV to her food. She glanced at the TV and shook her head no. "It's a cool show, biker gang doing crazy stuff."

"Sounds like it's right up your ally."

"There's a cool Irish guy in it." He nodded, even though it was partially unrelated. She raised a brow, spoon in mouth as she thought for a moment.

"Mkay, Irish accent. Go." 

Without thought, Ryan continued, butchering an Irish accent so much so that she burst out laughing, having to set her partially finished ice cream to the side as he whined about her teasing. She'd doubled over, smile wide as she laughed so hard her stomach ached. He reached over, hand splayed over her back as he too laughed-- not at himself, but at how hilarious she found it. 

Much of the night continued like this-- laughing at nonsense with several (or more) friendly touches and friendly comments. Not flirtatious remarks, if that's what you're thinking. They were just being friendly. Friendly, and butchering accents all the way from his best friend's southern drawl to the thick, harsh Russian impression.

It wasn't until birds began chirping outside her window that she realized just how friendly they'd gotten. She was hugging a pillow, head facing Ryan while he, on top of the blankets, also laid on his stomach but with his arm around her waist and their legs overlapping with a soft blanket separating skin on skin contact. Sleepily, Cadence pushed herself up and squinted around the bright room in a slight daze.