April's Fool 04-22-06

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I wake up slowly.

The breathing beside me is even and deep. I can feel Michael's chest rising and falling because I'm lying against him. The sunlight filters in only dimly through the closed blinds, but I can tell it's nice weather.

Michael's face is so close by mine that I could touch noses with him if I moved forward maybe an inch. I can see every spiky black eyelash, the fine black hairs of his wild eyebrows, and the light freckles on his nose and cheeks. There are minute wrinkles in the skin of his eyelids. Though he is breathing through his nose his mouth is slightly open. I squint but can't spot any of his teeth. His gentle features make him seem young; in sleep he looks like a little boy.

I close my eyes again without having moved. I can call Michael many things, but not a little boy, I muse, unable to suppress a smug smile. Not having felt this rested and peaceful in what must be ages, I don't make any attempts at moving for another good half-hour. Michael sleeps peacefully beside me. I become aware of cars and pedestrians passing by right under the window. I suppress the urge to open it and look down at them going back and forth.

Heonce found me like that before: hanging out of the window sill, peering down at the traffic below, an ice coffee in my right hand, a cigarette in my left. I hadn't realised he was there until I turned to get the ash tray. He was standing right next to me, holding out the ash tray with one eyebrow raised, and surprised the shit out of me. I dropped my cigarette and it burnt a hole in Michael's sleeve as he tried to catch it. We still argue whether it would have been better of me to drop the glass of ice coffee instead, as it was his favorite shirt. I think the glass would have cut our legs –and we'd have had to clean up glass-filled ice coffee to boot.

I stretch myself lazily, my hands grasping the head board by its edges. My hair itches me and I run a poorly co-ordinated hand through it. I rest myself against him, my hand dropping gently to his chest. I fall back into a doze; one so light I am still aware of his breathing.

He rolls onto his side so he is facing me, and takes my hand. I pretend to be asleep because I want to know what he'll do. The thought of him playing with my fingers and watching me sleep makes me feel warm and tingly inside.

His hand pulls mine down to rest on his stomach. Then he pulls it down a bit lower still. My fingers brush the rim of his boxers. My expectations plummet and I still make no attempt to show I'm awake. My hand is a deadweight on his underbelly. I can feel the short hairs that grow there bristling against my palm. He is pushing the rim of his boxers down and trying to get my hand to move under it, and it's not working. I'm surprised at how easy it is for me to not move a muscle, to observe all this happening with my eyes shut.

When Michael realises it's not going to work he makes a frustrated noise and pulls the covers up all the way over my head. The light beyond my eyelids is gone. I take a deep breath and flail my other hand weakly, then both of them. It probably looks pretty stupid, but I know for a fact that no one looks particularly elegant waking up. With a squeaking, girlish groan I push the covers off my face, then run a hand through my hair. I take another few deep breaths and blink.

“What,” I mumble. “The blankets were over my face.”

“Mm,” says Michael. “Good morning.”

I blink at him blearily again and then smile. The smile turns into a yawn. He sits up without attempting to touch me, and gets out of bed. I snuggle back down again.

Last night was a lot of fun, as always. I wonder if I should feel guilty for not wanting to start right back up again this morning. I decide I'll see if he seems upset with me, and if he does I can think of a thing or two that'll make it up to him.

My phone makes a buzzing sound and I sit up to look around Michael's is standing by his closet, putting on a shirt. He points to where my phone is on the ground. I slide out of bed, noting him looking at my bare legs as I do, and drop to the floor dramatically to pick up my phone.

It announces a new text message. I click to open it. “It's already April,” I say in a bemused voice.

“Yeah,” Michael says, putting on his glasses. “Goes fast.”

Cash! the text message starts.

where are you? Shoe and I couldnt find u last nite, and u didnt leave a note as far as we could tell. please dont tell me ur at michaels place again. I know u dont want us to worry about it or criticise u for it.. but u know he isnt good for u! weve got ice cream at home so hurry up and come Stanz

I let out a sigh. How do my friends smell these things? Part of me is upset with Stan for saying that in a text message, but I can't be surprised since it's not the first time she's said this about Michael. I grimace at the phone and delete the message. Then I put it down on the wooden floor and stand up.

“Can I take a shower?” I ask.

“Sure,” Michael says, and hands me a towel. His hand lingers on my wrist. I glance down at it, smiling, and automatically register the gold wedding ring I try to ignore every time I see his hand.

“Thanks,” I say softly, and walk to the bathroom with the towel over one shoulder. I can feel him taking in my bare legs as I do.

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Author’s note:

Thiswas for a contest organized by B.U.G. ..I took it as a good chance to write a tiny case study on Cash. A Cash study.. haha. Er. I’m too stuck in this universe right now to just randomly spew out characters for the contest.

Luka & Shoe is set in the beginning of a new school year, this is in April. So in case you read the other story: no, Cash isn't cheating on Jean.