Silva and the Stars

13 | open your eyes

In the wake of all the kisses we shared today, we return home with a new tentativeness in the air. Every moment and every touch looms between us. I clear my throat uncertainly as we cross the threshold.

But then the routine of the past week settles on us as Rachel nudges me toward the kitchen. "It's your turn to cook."

With a relieved smile, I set about making us dinner, falling into the easy routine we've set up. We chat about nonconsequential matters as I prepare noodles for us. I talk about the last time I saw my mum and what her reaction will be to us being married.

"She never thought I would settle down," I tell Rachel frankly.

"Have you settled down, really?" she teases me. "When you're with me you just seemed more worked up."

I roll my eyes. "You know what I mean."

We continue to talk over dinner and then we're getting ready for bed, ready to watch some more Game of Thrones. Rachel slips under my fluffy doona and I join her on the other side, laughing, as she engulfs herself in the covers. I can feel Rachel watching me as I find the box set of Game of Thrones that we bought on the TV.

"Do you want to talk about today?" she asks.

"What about today?" I tear my gaze from the screen to find her hazel eyes scrutinising me. With anybody else, that kind of attention would annoy me, but with Rachel it just makes me smile. It's so her.

"About us kissing."

She fully has my attention now, and I feel the remote fall to my lap.

"How good was it, am I right?" I say.

At the same time, Rachel rushes out, "I don't think we should do it again."

"Uhh." I frown over at Rachel, watching TV long forgotten. I reach out, my fingers brushing her coarse dark hair from her face, and I gently tap her forehead. "Tell me what's going on in here."

"I –" Rachel's voice cracks and she swallows.

She looks away and I notice that her eyes have welled with tears. But they're unshed. She's resolute in not revealing one crack in her shiny, silver armour.

I wait, turned towards her, propping my arm beneath my head.

"I'm scared," she whispers finally.

That was the last thing I expected her to say, and my free hand runs down over neck, over the silky skin of her collarbone, over her shoulder that's covered in the satiny pyjama she wears.

"What are you scared of?" I ask her softly.

Rachel breathes out heavily. The stress holds her small frame taut like a bow pulled back but not released.

"It's not about the bad sex still?" I prompt her teasingly.

She laughs under her breath. "No, if you can take my breath away with your kisses. I'm a little less worried about your bedroom skills."

Her brutal honesty slides under my skin in the best way, and my skin feels warm.

She takes another steadying breath, her eyes closing, her lush lashes fanning against her cheekbones.

"I'm scared of feeling again." She bites her lip, crushing her bottom lip with bruising pressure.

"After Mum, after Louis, after Dad..." She gulps. "I feel like everyone I love gets taken away from me. Why even bother loving when all I end up feeling is pain? When I'm the one left to remember them –" her words tremble in a shaking breath. Her face scrunches up and the tears slip down her cheeks.