Chapter Eleven

2 0 0
                                    

Amar had left his bedroom window open overnight again, and I woke up clutching cold sheets to my freezing skin. Amar, lying next to me in peaceful sleep, didn't even have the sheets pulled over his waist. I had no idea how one man generated that much body heat. I pushed myself onto one elbow and faced the large window behind the bed, flicking my wrist to slam shut the glass window letting in the freezing, early-morning October air. When I laid back down, my half-naked body hit an even colder section of the frigid sheets and I scowled against the bed, pressing my numb fingers to my neck for warmth.

The chances of me falling back asleep now were low, so I watched Amar's bare chest rise and fall slowly next to me, his eyelids gently fluttering and his hair, much too long now, sprawled against the white pillow sheets. Seconds and minutes passed and I was still freezing, watching Amar perfectly dozed and unbothered by the arctic temperatures he had created for the two of us.

With a bit of a sinister smile, I gently placed my icy hands onto his chest, lowering them slowly enough so as to not startle him awake. His skin, as always, was warm and soft. With my hand now resting completely on his body, and him still not even stirring, I began tracing lines down the length of his chest and abdomen. I kept watching his eyes, hoping for some indication that I had drawn him, even slightly, from his deep sleep. They remained completely still.

Oftentimes, Amar's tendency toward death-like heavy sleep came in handy. When I startled awake from nightmares, panting and sweaty, he hardly ever was awoken himself. If I needed to slip away from his bed in the early hours of the morning, it was easy enough to slide out from under his sheets undetected. For all of the nights I laid awake while he slept like a rock next to me, it was a slight comfort to know that I could probably start on a mid-volume rendition of my favorite opera song and he would be none the wiser.

But on mornings like this, when I was shamelessly desperate for even a sliver of attention, lying next to a man who could probably sleep through a bombing was not ideal.

My fingers continued to swirl around his body lazily, though now I was mostly working out of entertainment value for myself. Even after all this time, I still liked watching Amar sleep. These mornings, where it was just the two of us alone in his bedroom, absent of the looming threats and depictions that marred our relationship, being with Amar almost felt normal.

My hand was nearing Amar's collarbone when I felt a force drag it in the opposite direction, pulling it south toward where the sheet met Amar's body just above his pelvis. I watched Amar try to hold his face still for as long as possible before finally cracking a slight smile when my hand, still unwittingly, dipped beneath the sheet.

I rolled over so my body was on top of Amar and began kissing him, my hand still beneath our sheet, though now my own muscles had taken over. Amar groaned against my touch, though I couldn't tell whether it was from pleasure or the striking force of a freezing hand against his body. Either way, we continued on like this for some time before I rolled back over next to him, significantly warmer.

"Good morning," I said breathlessly, wiping a bit of sweat from the base of my hair.

Amar turned his body so he was facing me, his skin glistening as well. "Indeed," he murmured, taking a strand of my hair between his fingers. In the weeks since I had cut it in September, my hair had grown significantly longer again. I made a mention to Amar about how I was going to cut it again and he practically demanded that I keep it long. Even though I much preferred shorter hair, Amar didn't ask for much from me these days, and it felt like a subtle kindness to show him, given that most of our time spent together was a lie.

"How long have you been up?" Amar asked, wiping his tired eyes.

"Long enough to come to the realization that your master, evil plan must be to turn me into a popsicle," I said, shifting my feet against the still cool sheets. "Why else would you turn your room into a glorified refrigerator every night?"

Lying Liars Who Don't Tell The TruthWhere stories live. Discover now