Jesse's Girl

Chapter 36

     When I opened my eyes, it was because of a number of things. In my half-asleep state of mind only two seemed to register, though. One of them was vivid; a blinding brightness glaring in my face that could only have been sunlight. But the other was vague; something seemed to be tightening around my waist, drawing me closer to something else.

     In a blurred glance around me, nothing seemed to hold any significance. Not the peach cushions of the couch I was lying on. Not the Red Bull cans knocked over on the coffee table a foot away. Not the shards of porcelain scattered like puzzle pieces on the floor. Not even the staircase, looming over the room like a shadow.

     I wanted to keep my eyes open—to give myself enough time to process why I was lying on a peach colored couch instead of my velvet bed sheets, or why there were empty Red Bull cans when I much rather preferred Monster Energy, or why there was glass on the floor, or why I was comfortably lying in a room with that awful staircase nearby.

     But I was tired. I didn't feel up to thinking about it or anything else. All I really wanted to do was close my eyes and give into the heavy stupor weighing me down. So that's exactly what I did. I let it overtake me. I closed my eyes and relaxed back against whatever it was I was cuddling with.

     Seven seconds.

     I believe that was how long it took for the realization to hit me.

     My pillow is breathing.

     My eyes snapped back open, whatever speck of sleepiness I felt wearing off like a bad drug. When the haze cleared and my vision shifted into focus, my eyes were drawn to the black material I was resting on. Only after shifting back did I realize it was a shirt. And when I lifted my gaze, I drew in a startled breath when I discovered that the owner of it was Jesse.

     And he was sleeping.

     The waves of panic crashing down on me slowed to a halt when I studied his face—because all those months that I'd known Jesse never could have prepared me for the sight of him sleeping.

     It was often said people looked younger in sleep, and I discovered now more than ever that it was the truth. For probably the first time in Jesse's life, he looked...cute. His face was a tranquil mask; his lips were parted slightly, his head slightly downturned as if he had been resting it above mine before I'd moved. And his hair—dark strands lay tousled over his eyes and splayed out across the pillow he was resting on.

     It felt like a mission in and of itself just to force myself to look away.

     Taking in the scene from my vantage point, I appeared to be curled up on his side with one of my hands resting on his chest and one of my legs thrown over his. I also appeared to be encircled in his arms.

     And boy was I wrapped up in them.

     One was crossed underneath me in a way that allowed Jesse to place his hand on the small of my back. His fingers were touching my skin there, just below the hem of my shirt. And his other hand, with another spasm of realization, was raised to his chest, grasping my own with such gentleness that I hadn't even felt it until I saw it.

     I didn't know what part of me it was that wanted to relax back against him and I couldn't really find it in me now to reprimand myself for it. There was a blanket—albeit kicked aside so that it only covered us from the hips down—but I don't think I could have gotten any warmer even if it wasn't there.

     It seemed to surprise me how much I wanted to lower my head back down to Jesse's chest and fall back asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

     But then my eyes wandered to the sunlight filtering in through the windows and to the staircase, and no matter how hard I fought it down, my state of panic made a second appearance, and before I knew it, I was already moving to disentangle myself from Jesse to get up.