twinge of pain flared where he’d touched the bandage, and he knew he was awake. Not because of the pain – he dreamed about pain all the time – but because of the sense of reality that had settled deep into his bones, reminding him of what had happened the night before.
He dared to look at Ally again and quickly became caught up in studying the splay of her dark locks against the couch cushions, the shell of her exposed ear and the look of thoughtless peace she wore when she slept, so unlike the expressions of worry and determination he’d glimpsed on her face the night before.
Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from her grasp.
She’d held his hand all night, had slept beside him. For a moment, panic gripped him by the throat like an angry dog, threatening to shake him until every last bit of calm left him. He’d fucked everything up, and in that moment, he was even more aware of that fact than he’d been the night before, when it had all been happening.
The panic was short-lived and quickly gave way to a sense of resignation. What was done was done. He could at least make her breakfast. It was a small thing, but it was something he could do for her.
Feeling half sick with sweat and heat, he peeled off his jacket, pulled his shirt over his head and threw that aside, too. Normally, the apartment’s air felt stuffy, but compared to the sauna his clothing had become, it was heaven against his bare skin.
There was a carton of eggs in the fridge, plus some bacon, if he remembered correctly. He pulled two frying pans out of the drawer beneath the stove, careful not to bang them against anything. After smearing the inside of each pan with butter, he turned one of the front burners on, got out the bacon, set the eggs aside on the counter and started cooking.
He’d never thought of raw bacon as having much of a smell before, but as he laid down strip after strip, filling the pan, the odor of it rose up to meet him, and it wasn’t like the smell of cooked bacon.
The pain in his head was gone. In its place was a different sensation – not pain but not pleasure, just a strange feeling that reminded him of where he’d hurt the night before. He’d thought he was off the hook – that feeling usually meant he was.
Not this morning. Throwing down the package of bacon, he turned on his heel and sprinted for the bathroom, pulling the door shut as quickly as he could before heaving his stomach’s entire contents into the toilet.
It was mostly water and bile. The chicken, waffles and coffee he’d consumed the night before had already been digested, thank God. If he’d had to puke all that up, he would’ve been stuck heaving in the bathroom for an eternity and probably would’ve woken Ally up.
He rose, straining for any sound of her stirring, of her waking up and wondering why the hell she’d stayed.
He rinsed the bitter bile from his mouth before it could burn a hole in his tongue and used four capfuls of mouthwash before exiting the bathroom.
He was back at the stove before the bacon began to sizzle. Ally would never know.
She woke up a couple minutes later. Her timing left him feeling lucky as he turned over strips of bacon in the pan. Now that it was cooked and he’d puked his guts out, the smell wasn’t repulsive anymore. “Morning,” he called as her footsteps sounded on the carpet and then the linoleum, the only sound besides the sizzling bacon. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I tried to keep the noise down.”
He finally understood the meaning of the expression ‘pins and needles’ as he stood there with a fork in hand, mindlessly prodding the bacon as he waited for her to say something – anything.
Chapter 7
“It was the smell that woke me up.”
She didn’t sound mad. She didn’t sound anything, really, other than tired. Suspended in uncertainty, he continued jabbing at the bacon. He was practically stabbing it now, poking the crisped meat full
He dared to look at Ally again and quickly became caught up in studying the splay of her dark locks against the couch cushions, the shell of her exposed ear and the look of thoughtless peace she wore when she slept, so unlike the expressions of worry and determination he’d glimpsed on her face the night before.
Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from her grasp.
She’d held his hand all night, had slept beside him. For a moment, panic gripped him by the throat like an angry dog, threatening to shake him until every last bit of calm left him. He’d fucked everything up, and in that moment, he was even more aware of that fact than he’d been the night before, when it had all been happening.
The panic was short-lived and quickly gave way to a sense of resignation. What was done was done. He could at least make her breakfast. It was a small thing, but it was something he could do for her.
Feeling half sick with sweat and heat, he peeled off his jacket, pulled his shirt over his head and threw that aside, too. Normally, the apartment’s air felt stuffy, but compared to the sauna his clothing had become, it was heaven against his bare skin.
There was a carton of eggs in the fridge, plus some bacon, if he remembered correctly. He pulled two frying pans out of the drawer beneath the stove, careful not to bang them against anything. After smearing the inside of each pan with butter, he turned one of the front burners on, got out the bacon, set the eggs aside on the counter and started cooking.
He’d never thought of raw bacon as having much of a smell before, but as he laid down strip after strip, filling the pan, the odor of it rose up to meet him, and it wasn’t like the smell of cooked bacon.
The pain in his head was gone. In its place was a different sensation – not pain but not pleasure, just a strange feeling that reminded him of where he’d hurt the night before. He’d thought he was off the hook – that feeling usually meant he was.
Not this morning. Throwing down the package of bacon, he turned on his heel and sprinted for the bathroom, pulling the door shut as quickly as he could before heaving his stomach’s entire contents into the toilet.
It was mostly water and bile. The chicken, waffles and coffee he’d consumed the night before had already been digested, thank God. If he’d had to puke all that up, he would’ve been stuck heaving in the bathroom for an eternity and probably would’ve woken Ally up.
He rose, straining for any sound of her stirring, of her waking up and wondering why the hell she’d stayed.
He rinsed the bitter bile from his mouth before it could burn a hole in his tongue and used four capfuls of mouthwash before exiting the bathroom.
He was back at the stove before the bacon began to sizzle. Ally would never know.
She woke up a couple minutes later. Her timing left him feeling lucky as he turned over strips of bacon in the pan. Now that it was cooked and he’d puked his guts out, the smell wasn’t repulsive anymore. “Morning,” he called as her footsteps sounded on the carpet and then the linoleum, the only sound besides the sizzling bacon. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I tried to keep the noise down.”
He finally understood the meaning of the expression ‘pins and needles’ as he stood there with a fork in hand, mindlessly prodding the bacon as he waited for her to say something – anything.
Chapter 7
“It was the smell that woke me up.”
She didn’t sound mad. She didn’t sound anything, really, other than tired. Suspended in uncertainty, he continued jabbing at the bacon. He was practically stabbing it now, poking the crisped meat full
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