THE MORNING

My god, he thought. Eyes blood-shot and strained from lack of sleep, every blood vessel pulled tight, hard like chicken wire. The previous night seemed a distant unreality from the harshness of daylight that floods into his room. The gentle sweep of her back supported by the mattress, the delicate scent of her neck, the rhythmical rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Her warmth held more power over him than the exhaustion that wrapped his body, penetrating deep into every muscle. Lying next to her, sleep was a hard won ally that came and went but never took him deep enough to forget her form cradled into the socket of his body. Her gentle moans brought him back and sent him off again. Lost in the fog of a waking dream, moored between consciousness and the UN.

How many nights could he spend like that? How long could he hold up under these conditions? He didn't know. But he couldn't imagine his nights any other way. Why should he, why bother? He had traded rest for peace. A comforting thought as his head sunk back into the white pillow, his nose buried in her hair at the base of her neck. His eyes closed with this last thought and he slipped into a shallow sleep still aware of the warm contours of her body paralleling his.