Fight From the Inside

4 | There's a Girl Out There

Flowers. Warmth. Hair.

Hair. Hair?

Robert Plant.

Robert Plant's... hair?

Roger's eyelids opened suddenly, the thorough confusion he was experiencing rapidly fading as he realized that it wasn't, in fact, Robert Plant's hair in his face, it was Madeline's.

And the power must've come back on, as a distant lamp on a small table shone brightly into his fresh eyes and the aforementioned Zeppelin singer wailed softly in the background, threatening to wake up the warm body next to his.

Madeline.

He was suddenly aware of the arm he had draped across her side, his hand tangled in her own as she held it to her chest, his knuckles brushing the bottom of her chin - how had they gotten here? And why?

Detaching his arm as softly as possible from her own, he sat up, immediately met by the conception of a headache behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood up, softly padding across the small room to turn off the record and the table side lamp that accompanied the assault of his senses. He glanced at the clock on the wall, illuminated by the streetlight outside of the nearby window. 3:13 am.

Should he stay? Should he go? Would it be rude to sneak out? Would it be rude to stay? Roger had no answers, so instead he tip toed to the kitchen, using his ever-handy lighter to find a small glass and a bottle of aspirin.

Filling up the glass and popping two pills into his mouth, he held up the glass in a toast to his tired thoughts - 'well, here's to hoping this isn't acid.'

Setting the glass next to the sink, he turned around and nearly tripped on 15 pounds of solid cat hovering around his feet, insistent on making its presence known. Catching himself, he slowly made his way back over to where Madeline lay asleep on the floor, only to find a pattern in the carpet which indicated two people had been there minutes prior.

He heard movement in the bedroom and made his way there. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, he still dwelled on what to do. He didn't want to offend her, because he'd just met this girl the night prior, but damnit, it hadn't really felt like that soon, had it? How did two complete strangers become so close so quickly?

Squinting into the darkness, he saw her with the fluffy white blanket wrapped around her form as she lay on her side, curled up against herself. He wanted to join her, mostly because it looked so peaceful, but also because he longed to be close to her.

"Rog?"

He jumped, startled, and stood up straight in the doorway, trying to pretend that he hadn't just been staring moments ago.

"Yeah?"

"Will you bring me some aspirin?"

"Yeah love, I'll be right back."

He returned from the kitchen and sat at the foot of her bed. She sat up slowly and then next to him, feet dangling off the side, occasionally bumping into his own. He handed over the medicine and she took it, slowly, massaging her temples after she set the glass on her bedside table.

"Fuck, my head hurts."

"Mine too", Roger replied.

"What time is it?"

"Three something in the morning", Roger replied, stifling a yawn. "I should probably-"

"Stay", she interjected. "You should probably stay."

He paused, looking down at the floor, hands stuffed awkwardly into tight jeans.

"Are you sure?"