She woke up, hands bound by mine and her skin damp from the heat. Her shifting and slow movements didn‘t wake me as the erratic light from outside flickered, tracing us as one against the wall. She took a deep breath and as her chest rose, delicate drops run their course where lips and fingertips once did.
She looked across, her dark hair tangled and her body limp. Her breathing was heavy, dry and faulty and reminded her of our desperate mouths and quick fingers, popping buttons and forceful hands.
She pulled back and whispered against my lips “Did I wake you?”
My ears adjusted to the sound outside and I shook my head “No, there’s a storm outside.”
She looked up toward the open window where the humid air fought for it’s release and the rain played a simple tune against the glass.
The thunder brewed with vengeance and fury and a bright light manifested as her hand brushed my hair from my face. I searched her, I wondered how she hadn’t noticed the storm.
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