Christian passed out over an hour ago. He finished cleaning himself off – except for the blood on his shirt; he just let it dry and harden on the fabric. He fell asleep on his side, the ice pack pressed between his cheek and the pillow. After a half hour I pulled it away and his head rolled to the side but he didn’t stir. He seems to be a heavy sleeper.
Why did I decide to take care of him? I didn’t have to walk into that crowd and bring him home. I could have left him there to deal with his own issues. So why didn’t I?
The sun set a while ago, and I have the feeling that Christian isn’t going to wake up for a long while. He might just end up sleeping through the night, which means that I’ll have to sleep out on the couch. Can you believe it, kicked out of my own bed? I look over at Christian, mouth slightly open, arm hanging over the side of the bed, his knuckles barely brushing the floor. He looks so huge in my bed. I never thought anyone would be in my bed but me. I’m not even sure how much I want Cole in my bed, and if he were, I wouldn’t know what to do.
I head to the bathroom and wash up for bed, pull out blankets and a pillow and a pair of pajamas from my room. I tip toe around Christian, careful not to wake him, but he stirs when I try to reposition him on his back, folding his arm over his chest.
“What are you doing?” he says groggily, looking around. He tries to sit up but he gets dizzy all over again and props himself up on his elbows.
“You were about to fall off.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost eight.”
“I should go,” he says, easing himself up into a sitting position. He winces at every move. I look at him, and I can tell he reads what I’m trying to say. Rest. Stop torturing yourself. “I’ve certainly overstayed my welcome. Thanks, Princess.”
“Just stay,” I blurt out. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” I gather the blankets and pillow I picked out and start heading out.
“No, I can’t do that. This is your bed. I have no right to kick you out.”
“No I better go –”
“Christian!” I raise my voice without meaning to. He looks at me, amazed yet somewhat impressed that I yelled at him. “Just stay. You need to rest.”
He lays back carefully as to not to irritate his aches, throwing his arms over his eyes. “Okay,” he says. His lips hardly move, his voice so low, I almost don’t catch his submission. I’m out the door and halfway down the stairs when he calls to me. I groan and return to the room. His forearms are still covering his eyes. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
I shrug. “I have nowhere else to sleep, Christian.”
He pats the open space next to him on the bed. “Sure you do. You can sleep right here.”
“Christian that’s weird –”
“No it’s not, Princess. It’ll be fine.”
“But Cole –”
“Crap, stop being a pussy bitch, Princess and get in the bed! I’m not gonna touch you. I can find better girls to fuck than you.”
“Okay you know what, no. I’m going downstairs. Goodnight.”
Right as I step out of the room I hear a rustling and then his arms are around my waist, dragging me back to the room kicking and hitting his hands. “Christian!”
He throws me onto the bed and plops down next to me. He breathes heavily, having wasted all his collected energy on me. He gathers the covers out from under us and pulls them up to my chest, tucking them in around me. I feel like I’m being wrapped around in a cocoon. He reaches over to the lamp and turns it off.
Christian is still in my bed. I lay awake early dawn, looking at him. He has his back to me, the sheets tangled over his thighs. I’m not sure when, but sometime in the middle of the night he took his pants off, laying in his shirt and boxers. I want to move, to go downstairs and lay on the couch – it’s still early enough for me to get in a few more hours of sleep before school – but I feel like he’ll know when I move away from him. Sometimes he’ll stir when I shift my weight. I move closer to him and lean over, inspecting his face. There’s a bruise that I didn’t notice before underneath his left eye. It’s very faint, lavender in color, and doesn’t seem too serious. I run my finger over it, his skin smooth despite the imperfection.
His eyes flutter and I feel his eyelashes brush my fingers faintly like the wings of a butterfly. Why is it that he always wakes when I touch him?
“That hurts,” he says, his voice bleary.
“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”
I feel his lips spread under my fingers. “Thanks, Princess. You’re too good to me.”
“I really shouldn’t be.”
He turns over, looking at me over his shoulder. “Why is that?”
I shrug. “You’re kind of an ass.”
He looks at me and smirks. “Congratulations, Coconut. Your first curse word. I’m proud of you.” He rubs his face, feeling for the bruise absentmindedly. “Cole’s a lucky guy.”