“Oh? Then where should one of my stature be resting?” I try to inject snark into this comment, but my vocabulary has me coming off as jesting. To be fair, it’s been a while since I jested.
“Not here,” he says, his face sliding back into placidity. He is far away in the depths of his mind, and I don’t push it. Unconsciously he grabs my hand, looking for warmth and comfort. I try not to move. I can feel his blood pulsing through his fingers, especially his thumb, and it’s rough skin but a slow beat. Mine seems faster in comparison, more of a tempo. I’m just nervous to be around someone like him. He’s lethal. But not now, not here. I try to capture this moment in words. All I can describe it as is two people who have no power over each other, partially woven together in this moment.
I notice the sun setting in the background, past the trees and dirt road. There are no houses in front of us, but a couple neighbors farther down where the asphalt covers the mulch. It’s far away in comparison and I hope for the day when it’s not.
His hands are shaking slightly and I nudge him.
“Hmm?” he ponders. “How long was I out?”
“Enough for me to be worried.”
“Oh.” His face starts a blush that blends in due to the color of the sunset. His skin looks more tan now, kind of like a the guy you would want to see on the street.
I hesitate to ask but I might as well. “Who was she?”
“What?” he says. He is befuddled.
“Who was she, the girl you were thinking about just now?”