Love and Other Bugs

6: Burn

I awoke alone in my cold, quiet bed. The sun was high and Eric had already left for work, careful not to wake me, even to kiss me goodbye. I rolled onto my stomach, covering my face with my pillow, and tried to go back to sleep. When it didn't work I dragged myself from the twisted cocoon of my duvet and lumbered to the closet.

Too tired or maybe too lonely to care about the repercussions, I slipped on one of Eric's blue striped t-shirts, inhaling his scent from the collar. Unconcerned with dressing any further, I tied my wayward hair up in a yellow silk scarf as I made my way downstairs.

As I padded down the staircase, I could hear Silas in the kitchen, filling the kettle with water. He smiled up at me as soon as I was in view. He was back to his everyday attire, consisting of a plain white tee shirt, dark-wash jeans, and work boots that were cleaner than a teenager's favorite Air Jordans.

"Good morning, Mrs. Foster!" He called from across the house, "Did you have a restful night?"

"Yes I did." The lie was automatic, "Thank you."

"Do you have a preference on what you would like for breakfast this morning? Or should I resume the standard rotation?" His voice lowered in volume as I approached the kitchen.

My stomach churned at the mention of food, the thought of doing anything more than sipping coffee and mulling over the previous evening was overwhelming.

"Just coffee. Full caffeine today."

"Of course." He got to work preparing the French press, "Are you feeling alright, Mrs. Foster?"

This struck me as unusual, he didn't often ask about how I was feeling. "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"You appear to be anxious, or uneasy. Possibly distressed."

"Why do you say that?" I watched him as I settled myself on a stool at the island, he didn't look up from the coffee he was pouring.

"I frequently monitor your heart rate, and body temperature to ensure you are in good health. Your current metrics indicate stress or anxiety."

I squirmed. "Oh."

He added a generous splash of cream and two small spoonfuls of sugar to the ceramic mug I used each day. He finally turned to face me, setting my coffee on the counter and turning the handle towards me.

He lingered at the edge of the counter. "Is there anything bothering you that I could assist with?"

If my heart rate hadn't been abnormal before, it was definitely getting there now. I glanced at his hand, hanging at his side. Tanned, lean, and strong, just a few inches away from my own hand which was growing clammy. More than ever I wanted to know what his skin felt like.

Damn Lorraine and her perverted ideas, ruining a perfectly good thing. The past few weeks Silas and I had been hitting a stride, working on healthy habits, talking more. I was happy, or getting there, with the way things were.

Of course I'd noticed that he had a face straight from an old Hollywood movie, but it hadn't affected me much. I might have caught myself staring once or twice when he swung a sledgehammer, or carried a heavy piece of furniture, but who wouldn't?

This was different. Every word he said turned suggestive in my ears, every move showcased a different part of his physique, every idle moment an opportunity for my imagination to kick in before I could stop it.

I shook my head, redirecting my stare down into my steaming mug, "No, no. Really I'm fine, I don't even know what I would be stressed about."

"Alright. If you're sure." His expression bordered on concern, "My priority to ensure you are comfortable and happy."