Suffocation || Patrick Hockstetter

Chapter 8 : When Silence Speaks

Morning surprises me, the pale sunlight sneaking through the drawn curtains. My body is heavy, numb from accumulated fatigue, but something gently pulls me from my sleep. A warmth against my back, a light weight on my waist.

I blink, still confused, trying to gather my thoughts. My heart races as I realize that something-no, someone-is lying behind me. The warm breath on my neck sends a shiver down my spine, and the gentle pressure of an arm wrapped around my waist paralyzes me for a moment. Patrick.

The memory of the previous night comes back in chaotic waves: the flight, the fear, Patrick broken and silent, lying at the foot of my bed. But now, he is here, pressed against me, his body following the curve of mine, his arm holding me firmly against him.

I lie still, my mind struggling to understand this shift. His movements must have been silent, imperceptible, for me not to wake. But what disturbs me most is the total absence of distance, of that invisible wall I expected to find between us after what he has been through. Instead, he has drawn closer, perhaps seeking an instinctive comfort, an anchor in this internal storm that has devastated him.

I take a deep breath, my thoughts swirling. What should I do? If I move, I might wake him, shattering this fragile moment of peace. This closeness gives me a strange sense of security, as if his proximity offers me an unexpected protection.

I focus on his steady breathing, the soothing rhythm of his breath against my skin. Perhaps for now, he is finally at peace, away from his nightmares. I don't want to disturb that, even though my heart races with every passing second, every touch of his skin against mine.

The silence of the room is almost deafening, every outside noise muffled, isolating us in this fragile bubble of tranquility. I could turn, try to wake him gently, but a part of me hesitates, preferring to leave him there, pressed against me, as long as he needs.

The sun rises slowly, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. The rays pierce through the curtains, casting dancing patterns on the walls. The warmth against my back becomes more pronounced as Patrick starts to move. His arm around my waist tightens slightly, then loosens. I feel his breathing become more irregular, a sign that he is about to wake up.

I close my eyes, feigning sleep, but I am fully aware of every movement of his body. Patrick slowly sits up, his warm breath becoming more erratic against my neck. I catch a murmur, a muffled groan, as he seems to be trying to wake up fully.

When he opens his eyes, I feel his body stiffen slightly against mine. He looks confused, trying to understand where he is and why he feels so strangely close to someone. His breath catches for a moment as he realizes his position, and he gently pulls away, as if afraid of waking me.

I take a discreet breath and slowly turn my head towards him. His eyes meet mine, filled with fatigue and confusion. I see a mixture of relief and embarrassment on his face, as if he has just realized he is no longer alone in his distress.

"Patrick..." My voice is soft, almost a whisper, to avoid startling him further. "You're awake."

He blinks, as if recovering from the abrupt awakening. For a moment, he seems to search for words, his lips moving without sound. Then he gently shakes his head, sitting up a little more. "I... I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice rough and filled with shame.

I offer him a reassuring smile. "You don't have to apologize. It's... I mean, I understand."

He hesitates, looking around the room with a still distant gaze, before turning slightly, his cheeks flushed with a shy redness I hadn't known before. "I didn't know... how I ended up here."

"You were... exhausted," I reply, searching for the right words. "After what happened yesterday..."

Patrick looks around, then down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't know... I could... sleep so well..."