Divided Territory

Chapter Six

When Vicky woke up the next morning, the dream she was having quickly faded from her memory and she opened her eyes in dissatisfaction.

For some reason, she was upset that she couldn't remember it. All that was left was a vague impression of its former glory, an inkling of anticipation that told her she had just been getting to the best part before waking up. 

In a way, it sort of mirrored the pattern of her real life.

Pushing the disappointment from her mind, she flung the covers off her body and swung her feet over the side of the bed, orienting herself before padding across the room. There was no more time to spend on mourning the loss of good dreams.

Grabbing a bunch of warm clothes, she ambled out to the bathroom, listening for voices while she was in the hall.

She could hear movement downstairs, the sound of the kettle boiling and low, manly rumblings- the latter of which belonged to Mattheus. 

The bond was warm and fuzzy, much like her brain, acclimatising to being honed in on once again. It took her a minute to realise that she had unconsciously started moving towards the stairs and she swiftly redirected herself back to the bathroom. 

She quickly peed, inwardly moaning at the relief from her bursting bladder, and jumped into the shower- trying not to noise her groans of appreciation at the hot spray of water against her body. She liked her showers hot- hot enough to temporarily numb her skin before it adjusted to the heat. It also felt a bit like getting a warm hug, except everywhere at once.

Within the hour she was out of the shower, creamed and oiled and dressed, hair in damp twists on the top of her head.

The growling of her stomach encouraged her out of the bathroom and down to the kitchen and she quickly followed its leading without complaint.

By the thrumming of the bond, that internal compass, she knew that Christopher was in the kitchen before she entered, however that didn't make it seem any less surreal when she saw him with her own eyes. 

They made eye contact and Vicky's first thought was that it was really good. 

He looked really good. 

Not just in the way he was dressed: all white, pressed shirt and tie, but also in the cushy glow that seemed to surround him, the way the sunlight splayed across his hair and the tired shadows under his eyes.

Vicky wanted to greet him. She wanted to ask how his night had been, if he'd been comfortable, if he'd changed the bed sheets before he went to sleep. She wanted to kiss him smack on the mouth and then ask him what he wanted for breakfast too.

That was weird.

Weird enough that she grumbled out a flat good morning instead and went straight to dig around in the cupboards.

"Good morning, Victoria." He responded, causing the girl to shudder.

"Vicky's fine." She muttered, grabbing the first box of oats she saw and pouring it straight from the box into her mouth.

She made the mistake of looking over the box and catching Christopher's eye, cheeks burning up at the intense look he was shooting her. Any ounce of fluster the man demonstrated the night before was long gone.  

He looked so prim and proper, sipping his tea like he had all the time in the world before strolling off to work, while she was dropping oats all over the floor while trying to get as much of them in her mouth as possible. 

"Oh hell." She blurted as his actions triggered a question in her mind. She attempted to swallow what was in her mouth before talking. "How old are you?"