Black Romance 52 Call For Help

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I didn't sleep alone. For the first time in my life, I had someone else beside me.

The heat off his body was warm as he curled himself around me unknowingly while he slept. His arm draped over my shoulder, face snuggled up into my hair, leg thrown over my calf.

A small smile sat on my lips as I watched bright streams of light stretch between the cracks in the blinds. I was afraid to move, afraid to wake him up and have all of this end.

The night before I was angry, too caught up in how I ended up in his hands, unable to see the genuine gift he had given me.

I was out of the Canary. Not forever, but long enough to enjoy the pleasures of this strange world.

Taking in a deep breath, even the air smelled different. It was fresh and light, filled with subtle notes of perfume and laundry detergent. The bedding was clean and soft, the walls were crisp and clean, decorated with ocean scenery.

Memories of going to the beach with my family when I was a little girl rushed into my head. I could remember the salty air and the way the sand stuck to your skin, making it feel rough.

A single tear trickled down my cheek as my father's face sat in my mind, his smile bold and gleaming as we built sand castles and splashed in the cold water.

Moving my eyes to the table beside the bed, the thick glossy lacquer was like a mirror. Running my fingers across the surface, I gently touched the thin edge of the lamp, feeling the coa.r.s.e material.

The need to explore and touch and smell everything in the room had started to come over me. This was the only chance I had to regenerate memories of normalcy. Things that most took for granted.

A soft bed, a fluffy pillow, the way the fabric felt against my skin. I was trying to make mental notes so I'd be able to revisit this memory in the future.

Salt stirred, rolling onto his back,. Glancing over my shoulder, his eyes were still closed, and his breathing was heavy as he snored lightly.

Giggling, I laid my head back down, allowing myself to have that moment. One where there was no pressure on me to perform, or feet stalking by my door like I was a dangerous criminal who might escape.

Pulling the blanket up higher, the feather filled pillow cradled my skull like a delicate egg. I wanted this to last forever. I wanted to live this life. I wanted nothing more than to wake up every day to the sun as my alarm clock.

Salt grunted, mumbling something to himself as he rolled further to the other side of the king sized bed. Twisting my body, I turned so I was facing him, and watched him while his dreams seemed to take him places.

Every few seconds his face would contort and his lips would move as he spoke unrecognizable sentences to an unseen person. Lifting his arm up over his head, his muscles rippled, drawing my eyes to his bare chest.

Thick black lines decorated his ribs, swirling and looping as they followed the defined muscles down his side, disappearing into the seam of his boxers. Reaching out, I let the tips of my fingers hover over the tattoo.

I wanted to trace it, follow the lines and see exactly where they went. The pads of my fingers inched closer, my hand shaking slightly as I tried to be as gentle as possible so I didn't wake him up.

He looked like a sleeping G.o.d, one that was dropped from above by mistake. Salt didn't belong mixed up in this s.h.i.t. For all the bad things he'd probably done in his life, there was something about him that screamed savior.

From the corner of my eye a red flash blinked, catching my attention. Lifting up on my arm, I spotted a phone on the table on Salt's side. The small light kept bursting like a tiny firework, but the phone wasn't making a sound.

A phone. I could call for help. . .