Chapter Seven
Shane
Watching our mate shower through the fogged up glass door is absolute torture. Why is she doing this to us?
How long is she going to be in there? Ash is pacing around in my head, probably wearing a hole in the carpet. Make it stop. I can’t watch anymore and not be able to do anything about it. I need you to shift soon or I’m going to hump her leg and scare her off for good.
Taking pity on both of us, I turn away from the doorway we’ve been camped out in for the last half hour and focus on the movie that’s playing on TV.
Before she got in the shower, Blythe turned on a random movie channel, and Hocus Pocus has been the background soundtrack to our peep show.
I will never be able to watch this movie ever again and not picture a foggy, soapy silhouette of our mate.
But hopefully next time I watch it, I will no longer have four legs, but two legs and two arms and be able to join her under the falling water.
Finally, after what seems like forever, the water shuts off and Blythe comes walking out of the bathroom with one towel wrapped around her chest, covering her down to her knees, and another wrapping her hair all up onto the top of her head.
She disappears into the closet and reappears shortly after wearing a black tank top and red and black flannel pajama pants.
After a detour to the kitchen for a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn, to which we follow behind her every step, she settles into the corner of the sectional couch and pulls a blanket from the back to drape over her legs.
“Come on up her, pup.” Blythe taps the cushion beside her, and taking no risks she’ll change her mind, we jump up and curl up as close to her as we can without being in her lap—as much as we would love to be.
No one has called us ‘pup’ since we were probably four, but I can’t say I hate it when it’s coming from her.
Blythe’s hand reaches over and she starts petting her hand down the back of our neck. Souls above, does that feel good.
Our blinks start getting longer, and we miss longer chunks of the movie each time, but there is no mistaking the press of Blythe’s lips on the top of our snout as she whispers, “Good night, my love. I’ll see you when the sun comes up. Sweet dreams.”
I feel funny, Shane.
Me too.
What’s happening?
I don’t—
I don’t think this is a dream, but I certainly feel like I haven’t felt in way too long.
Mate.
Mate.
She’s ours forever.
And sleep completely takes over.