She was the girl who was afraid of love. Terrified of it. It isn't permanent, she believed, it leaves you and it leaves you broken.
He was the boy who desperately needed it. Love--the only thing that could've rooted him to this world.
Ophelia and...
"the briefest moment shared with you- the longest on my mind."
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I woke up from my sleep quite ungracefully the next morning.
Ungracefully, as in, I rolled off my bed, just narrowly missing the edge of the nightstand that would have banged against my head--and probably would have given me a concussion--and fell down on the floor.
I could only groan in response because,
a) I had just woken up to be wanting to speak anything.
And b) I was still somehow tangled in between the bedsheets and the duvet, both.
I wasn't expecting a response to my unhuman-like falling, but I did hear a small snort of amusement from behind me. Where in the room, I wouldn't know since I was face-planted on the floor.
"Are you all right?" Alastair asked. I think I heard a slight hint of concern in his voice, but really, I couldn't tell. I had just woken up, for God's sake.
Why was he up so early?
"No," I mumbled with another groan, before reaching out my arm towards my bed above me and dragging down my pillow, stuffing it beneath my face. The floor wasn't comfortable even in the slightest.
"Are you hurt?"
My head throbbed a little and my eyes too behind my closed eyelids, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't because of my fall.
"Yes," I told him, which came out mostly muffled. I didn't even care. "My pride's hurt." And then, since I had no self-dignity left within me, I pulled the duvet over my head and tried falling back to sleep.
"Don't sleep on the floor, Ophelia."
Like I fucking cared where I slept when I had just woken up.
I responded to him no further, because I was exhausted. I was exhausted and I needed sleep just for a few more minutes.
"Ophelia?" He spoke up again. I would be pissed off at him, for trying to wake me up again, but that softness in his voice did not let me do that. Be mad at him, I mean. My life wasn't fair at all.
"You'll catch a cold." Which, now that I thought about it, he was right. The floor was freezing.
I mumbled an incoherent response, something along the lines of 'I don't fucking care' and snuggled further under the warmth of the duvet. It was just silent for the next few seconds. I realized that Alastair might have probably decided to let it go, maybe because I would've done the same.
However, that was not what happened the very next second. He did not let it go like I had been expecting (and hoping).
My breath froze halfway down my lungs when I felt him leaning down beside me. I didn't see him, I felt him. I felt the heat radiating from his body. Then he slid one of his arms beneath my head, and the other under my knees, picking me up just as swiftly. Even before I could've reacted, he was dropping me down on my bed.
