A Dangerous Game

Chapter 7

I wake up slowly, groggily opening my eyelids. My lashes flutter, begging me to go back to bed, but I have a strong sense of urgency that I can't place. All I know is that there's something I need to do, and I don't have the luxury of a few more minutes of shut eye.

I sigh, pushing off the blanket draped across me. I hiss and turn to stare at my arm, which doesn't let me forget it's pain as it throbs. Still, the ache isn't too bad and I do my best to ignore it. A minor set back in my life, inconvenient but leaving me perfectly functional despite a little bit of stiffness.

The chair squeaks as I stand up and Louis turns over. His legs are curled up close to his chest while one arm falls off the chair, brushing against my makeshift "bed". I freeze, taking a moment just to stare at him. His hair is still fluffy yet unmade, and his face is more relaxed than I've ever seen it. A small smile even curls up the edges of his pink lips. He looks so free, and it hurts to know that once he's awake that mouth will purse and a hardness will return to his expression. I wonder if he would be happier if I wasn't here, or if there's always something on his mind. He didn't look this peaceful when we met for the first time. That day feels like a long time ago.

I shake my head, continuing quietly into his room where I shut the door softly behind me. It smells like him; vanilla and aftershave, with the slight hint of sweat, probably coming from the small basket in the corner containing old running clothes. It brings a faint grin to my cheeks as I strip off my own clothes. I'm still not wearing a shirt, so there isn't much to do as I wait for the shower to heat up. I glance in the mirror for a moment, slightly taken aback by the reflection before me. I'm still thin, thinner than what's probably considered healthy, but my ribs are much less pronounced and my muscles are more obvious, lean and strong under my tanned skin. I can't remember the last time I've been able to look at myself and see someone almost normal. My hair and face is the cleanest it's been in the last year, and just that small fact makes me look so much healthier. Even the bags under my eyes have started to fade just the slightest amount, which I'm assuming has to do with my better sleeping conditions. A mattress will always beat the sidewalk.

I realize I've been thinking for a bit too long as steam starts to fog the mirror and I hurry into the shower, shaking away my thoughts. I can deal with them later, but right now I need to focus on what matters; the truth.

Ten minutes later I leave the bathroom, peaking around the corner to find Louis still resting in the living room. My skin is pink from the hot water, something I might be taking advantage of, and I leave my hair toweled up over my head. It may look stupid, but it's more comfortable then having the excess water drip down my back.

I shuffle around, trying to keep my actions quiet, but that's not exactly an easy thing to do in a kitchen. I'm just putting down a glass bowl and a carton of eggs to make pancakes with when a loud groan comes from the armchair. Louis sticks his head up indignantly, squinting at my head.

"Am I still dreaming?" he slurs, his voice surprisingly deep. I raise my eyebrows in confusion, watching him eye my hair, before understanding dawns and I laugh.

"Oh, no. Sorry," I say, taking off the towel and shaking out my wet, stringy hair.

"Oh," he says, still studying me. "My mum used to do that."

I roll my eyes with a chuckle as he props his elbows on the chairs back, tilting his head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast. Nothing against the restaurant downstairs, but homemade food is always better."

"Not when I make it," he says knowingly. I decide to take this as a challenge.

"Oh? Why don't we see?"