Emancipation

twenty eight

Blinding light seems to be poking my eyes when I slowly open them, a groan leaving me as I turn around to hide from the sunshine peeking in the room. I'm met with a hard chest that seems to be breathing evenly and my eyes roam around the beautiful face that has no trace of worry on it.

It warms my heart a little to look at James's calm face, his lips parted a little as he seems to be deep in sleep. Last night after making out more, James and I talked. We talked more than ever before, actually I think I talked more than I've talked before. I told him about my high school life, which was plain boring but he listened to it all with patience. I spoke about my new group of friends, and even after we ordered pasta and garlic bread, I told him about my love for Jeremy and his friendship with Joan, which actually amused him a lot.

My finger mindlessly traces on his tattoo that I didn't ask him about. 1968-2000. I'm not sure when did we fall asleep because last I remember I just lied down after eating and James was still sitting by my legs. He must have switched the fairy-lights off before sleeping.

He stirs a little in his sleep and I immediately retract my hand back to myself, afraid that I might have woken him up. But then he just puts his arm across my waist before pulling me closer. How the hell did I manage to sleep in my dress and him in his jeans is beyond me.

"Morning." He breathes, his voice so low and husky, making his face look even more attractive.

His eyes are still closed which makes me smile a little. "Morning, Mr. Clark."

I can see a small smirk starting to form on his lips as he opens his eyes, his emerald orbs so dark as they adjust to the light in the room before they lock with mine. Suddenly I become very conscious about how I look in the morning and my bedhead hair but don't do anything to show it.

"Your eyes are very deep shade of blue." His words surprise me because that wasn't something I ever expected to hear from James. He must see the frown on my face because he adds, "In a very good way."

"Thanks?" I laugh, making him smile a little. "Sorry I woke you up."

He shakes his head, "I don't mind."

My eyes move to the ink on his chest and I can't help bringing my finger upto trace along it. I notice how my actions make him freeze a little so I retract my hand back to myself as I study his face in confusion.

"Do you mind me asking the significance?" I observe how my question almost changes his entire expression, making me regret asking it.

"It's my mother's birth and death year." He says, his hand coming up to my face as he brushes aside my hair, his eyes not meeting mine but his words explain the sombre look on his face.

"You don't have to talk about it." I tell him because I don't want to invade his personal thoughts.

I knew about his mother passing away, but nothing in detail. I never asked him about it because I didn't know how he would react. So when his expressions mould into almost painful one, I can't help but bring my hand up to cup his cheeks. His eyes blink upto meet mine finally and he sighs.

"There's not much to talk about, honestly. I have very faded memories of her to begin with." His hand comes up to press against mine as he moves it a little to kiss my palm. "She passed away due to pneumonia, which was honestly just a viral to begin with. Doctors couldn't detect it in time."

My heart saddens for him as he stares off into the blankness and I scoot a little closer to him. "How much do you remember her?"

"I remember her blonde hair, she always kept them in this ridiculous bun over her head that I used to play with." He smiles at the memory. "And I remember her obsession with making pancakes every damn morning. I think for first seven years that's all I had for breakfast."