The Small Blonde Girl

Charter 9: "It might sting a bit..."

The song of birds awoke the female of the lovers as the dawn stretched over the length of the windowsill and lurked just short of the sofa. Its mustard color hue just out of reach however giving the room a much brighter atmosphere. Sitting up she looked over the integrity of the room, believing all was in perfect order; sweeping her legs over the edge of her somewhat comfortable bed - she found herself unable to do so with ease. This was because: Firstly, she felt rather sore, and secondly; there was a hand around her waist and a warm figure pressed against her skin.

She looked down in confusion to find she was also missing her clothing, which stumped her further before memories of the previous days happenings flooded back to her in a hazy barrage; causing her to cover her head and close her eyes in an effort to disregard distractions and focus on the privy occurrences. Her small hand then made a stretch down her face before giving off affliction smile - eyes drifting to the hand that lay ever so gently around her before holding it with a thumb and index finger and placing it aside imperceptibly as though she would awake a monster if she acted too rashly.

She stood up and walked forth towards the door staggering slightly as a mumble caught her ears. "No... Don't go..." Turning on her heels, she was met with Rose laying still, holding one of the couch pillows as though it were the only source of warmth he had left, eyes clenched shut tightly and a hint of despair in his lungs. Vocals wobbling shakily as he spoke in anguish. Hearing him as such made a pendulum drop inside of her as a metaphorical darkness clutched at her heart - taking an averse, silent however brisk stroll towards him on her tip-toes as not to wake him.

He was having a nightmare. Breathing had become rushed, sweating profoundly while murmuring miniscule fragments his vision into the open world and to the ears of his lover - she listened and he spoke. Her hand grasped his gently before whispering to him in the softest voice she could muster, "I'm never going anywhere." Then offered him a frivolous peck on Rose's cheek. Then he began to calm. Breathing slowing down though still at a rapid pace, his twitches had ceased and his murmurs became less coherent.

In all truth - she wanted him awake. She wanted him to wake and see his nightmares were just nightmares. That she was still there, she always would be. Gradually, she began to stroke his hair and shushed his maddening night terrors with her cooing. Offering many: 'everything will be alright,' and 'I'm here's before he was eventually eased into a state of stability properly.

She gave a small sigh and walked away from Rose. Traversing her home until she came to the bathroom. She was about to strip off her clothing - letting out a sudden "Oh..." when she realized she wasn't wearing anything. Turning on the shower, she waited for it to get nice and hot before stepping inside allowing the water to loosen the knots in her muscles and watching as it washed away the residue of the intimate activities.

Her hair grew heavy with the water it took on, draping down and taking on a darker, more sluggish appearance, as if the cleansing fluid sapped the divinity from her. She dropped to her knees which gave a sharp click followed by a gasp of temporary pain. Sitting on the ground and drawing her knees under her chin nonchalantly, finally wrapping her arms around her knees then began thinking to herself.

Unbeknownst to how much time had passed before she stepped out dripping wet. Her hair soon being wrapped up in a baby blue towel and her body wrapped up in a frost white, far bigger towel. Upon exiting the bathroom, she made her way to her bedroom, feeling restored and mildly pleased with how the soothing heat and steam had left her feeling as though she had just treated herself to the most luxurious spa.

She pulled forth a pair of smooth, and expensive wine red cotton underwear; clasped a more comfortable black bra on with minimal difficulty and looked around the room. She spotted several beanies that may be perfect for the day and quickly decided that it's more appropriate to select an outfit first. She opened up her wardrobe and began disregarding tops left, right and center. A smile graced her lips as she pulled out a white, short sleeved shirt on that had a boxed picture of the Brooklyn Bridge in its bright red glory on it with an enticing blue sky; an added cloud here and there - completing the majestically of the landscape that had been pasted into the torso, completing the canvas. She then closed the door with a loud, heart stopping 'thunk' against its frame and went to her drawers, pulling forth a single pair of low rise denim shorts and decided that would be her outfit for the day.