Other Side

16 | Root Cause

Through the screen of the fireplace, Talia watched flames envelope a wooden log, creating a blanket of heat that just barely covered the corner of the living room in which she and Zaid had sought refuge.

Lying on an old comforter, they were a mess of blankets and their thoughts, as life had created the cruelest paradox. Being this close to his body made her want to commit every sin under the sun, but pulling away meant losing one of her two sources of warmth.

From there began a battle of desire and rationality, all but forcing her to conjure up the most off-putting thoughts as Zaid's fingers continued their torturous path down her skin, lighting the flames of need deep inside of her body. Propped up on one elbow, he hovered above her and traced light circles on her jawline, then the side of her neck, before stopping on her exposed collarbone.

And repeat.

He didn't seem to realize what he was doing anymore after five minutes, just as entranced by the fire before them.
"How—" Talia paused and got her act together as his curious fingers brushed the edge of her lips. "How are we going to sleep with the fire still burning?"

"We aren't," he said, before correcting himself. "I'm not. I'll watch it while you go to sleep. Don't worry."

Talia tapped her dying phone and read the time, just shy of midnight. Then she glanced at his face, half illuminated by the light of the flames. "You deserve to get some rest, too, Zaid. Maybe we can let this log burn and then try to go to sleep with whatever heat is left."

"So I can get charged with involuntary manslaughter after you die of hypothermia? Not a chance in hell, Talia."

"Not if you die with me," she joked, rolling over onto her side. She invaded his personal space with her face, vision blurring this close. "Or...we could always resort to more rudimentary forms of survival."

"Really?" he hummed, gripping her thigh under the blanket. "Like what, Talia?"

"Like—like..." Her words disappeared when he gave her flesh a squeeze, rough fingers digging into the fabric. "Like hugging. Yeah. That's what I meant."

He let her bask in the awkwardness of that remark, before lowering his mouth to her ear. "I don't want to fucking hug, and neither do you. But this time, I'm not willing to settle for a happy medium."

She swallowed and trailed two wary fingers up his stubble-covered cheek. "What will you do, then?"

His lips got so close to hers again that she considered grabbing the back of his head and going to town. Then, she realized the proximity was the start of another one of his maddening power plays.

"Well, Talia, I'm going to start by keeping a solid foot of distance between us." He rolled over onto his back again and shifted to the right—a solid eleven inches if you asked her, but who was measuring. "Then, I'm going to stare at the wall over there, so your beauty can finally vacate my peripheral vision. And then, right then, I'm going to say a prayer in memory of the remaining ounce of my willpower as I share a bed with you for the second night in a row."

With that, he pulled the blanket up to his chin and lost himself in the white wall. She lifted up a few inches and stared at his still body—his eyes now closed—and waited for the moment his persona would break. After a minute of silence on his end, the corners of his lips twitched and his eyelids strained against his eyes.

And then, all she could hear was laughter.

Both of them lost it together, the noise reverberating in the eerie quietude. When he finally got a hold of himself, she replayed the last few moments between them and spewed laughter all over again. By then, it was just noise with no humorous undertones, ironic giggles at this perfectly unfortunate scenario.