The Opposition

Chapter 14: Carter

 Sadie is straddling me. I've been lying awake for twenty minutes and my brain can only seem to focus on this fact. She's lying on her side, facing me, with her legs wrapped around my waist and her arm slung around my chest. I wasn't any better when I woke up, with my legs tucked up to meet hers and my hands resting on her hip and thigh. The worst part: I didn't want to move. I was perfectly content with my hand rubbing up and down her bare thigh and her warmth pressed against my bare torso. Now, I keep my hands pressed together above my head because I don't know what came over me.

The clock is flashing 5:07 AM and I know I should wake Sadie up, but I can't bring myself to. She looks so peaceful. Her hair is messy and resting atop her head, a few pieces coming down to frame her face and cover her closed eyes. Her soft lips are slightly parted, releasing the soft sounds of her breathing. I can see her chest rise and fall with every breath, and occasionally her breath will catch and she'll snuggle closer to me. It's taking every bit of restraint I have to not return the favour and wrap my arms back around her frame. I don't know how I'm going to spend six more nights like this, with her body so close to mine, sleep lulling her away from her hatred for me. It scares me that I can feel my heart leap at the idea of her spending more days pressed so close to me; her scent practically engulfing me.

My mind wanders over to what happened last night; waking up to her screams. I've only ever seen Sadie in control. There's always this calculated confidence in everything she does; it's what makes her so alluring. As much as I hate to admit it, there's something that catches your attention when you see Sadie walk into a room like she owns it. She definitely caught my attention the first time I saw her. But last night she seemed so... vulnerable? Shaking and mumbling like she didn't know where she was or what she was doing. I wonder what she saw behind her closed eyelids that made her so scared. I can't imagine anything that would've made her willingly rest in my arms. I never thought of Sadie as someone that deals with any sort of trauma behind closed doors; she seems too put together for that. Now I feel like an idiot that I didn't know. It could have been a one-time thing. Maybe it was just a regular nightmare about being chased by clowns or falling off a rollercoaster. Even as I try to convince myself that I know it's not true. Even in the dark, there was this look in Sadie's eyes that stretched across her whole pained expression, like she was reliving a memory. This wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.

I feel her stir ever so slightly against my frame, about to wake up any second. Before I can think about it, I close my eyes and slow my breathing to pretend I'm still asleep. I can't let her know that I've been awake for almost thirty minutes with her pressed against my body. I feel her sleepily lift her head, survey what position we're in, and jerk her body away from mine, clearly not caring if she wakes me up or not. The sheets are rustling and I hear her mutter "fuck" under her breath, whether it's from seeing the time on the alarm clock or how close we spent the night. I hate myself for feeling disappointed that she moved away from me so fast when I just wanted to bask in her closeness. I'm a weak man.

I hear her footsteps as she walks over to my side of the bed. Two fingers nudge my arm. She leans in, her breath fanning my face. "Wake up, Conners."

I use my one month of theatre experience to put on a show of fussing, stretching my arms, and opening my eyes, pretending to blink away the tiredness. I stare up at her and feel my eyes widen when they land on where my shirt has risen up on her thighs. Catching me staring, she clears her throat and my eyes move their way up to meet hers. She has a crazy case of bedhead going on and I have to physically stop myself from getting to my feel and running my fingers through it. Get it together, Carter. There are bags under her eyes and faint lines creasing her forehead, but those seem to be the only indications of her rough night.

I shift and perch myself on the edge of the bed. She's staring at me with an a slight tinge of fear in her eyes. She's practically yelling at me to not bring up what happened last night. I oblige. If anything has become apparent, it's that Sadie doesn't talk about her feelings. At all. It must be killing her to keep all of that–whatever that is–bottled up. Regardless, she doesn't want to talk about it and I'm not going to force her to.