15. Duncan
15
DUNCAN
Watching Odette/Nebula in action as she creates music is an experience like no other. She pours herself into it, completely absorbed in her music, leaving little room for conversation or acknowledgment. She barely looks my way except for the occasional nod or polite thank you when I bring her coffee.
I give her space, watching from a distance as she scribbles notes onto scattered sheets of music, her pencil darting back and forth like it holds the answer to whatever’s swirling in her head. It’s mesmerizing, really, the way she loses herself so completely. Still, I keep my distance, glad she’s out here instead of retreating to her room and shutting me out completely.
By early evening, she’s drained, her hair slightly mussed, her eyes distant. After dinner she retreats upstairs with a soft, “Goodnight.” I wish I could say something to ease the tension that has been simmering between us, but I don’t. Instead, I let her go.
The house feels emptier without her, even with the storm raging outside. I hope it doesn’t keep her up, since she needs her rest.
By the time the power goes out completely, it’s just past nine. I’m in the middle of reading when the room plunges into darkness, the storm outside louder than ever. I wait, expecting the generator to hum to life, but the silence stretches on.
“Damn it,” I mutter, getting up to check the controls. It’s dead. Of course.
I stoke the fire instead, piling on extra wood until it’s roaring. With the living room being the warmest place in the house, I push back all the furniture and drag in blankets and pillows from the downstairs guest room slash former recording studio. The mattress is heavy and awkward to maneuver, but I wrestle it into place in front of the hearth. I’m making enough noise to wake the dead, but there’s no sound from upstairs.
That surprises me. She’s a light sleeper. Or at least, she was. My curiosity gets the better of me, so I grab a flashlight and head upstairs to check on her. Her door is slightly ajar, and I nudge it open.
The room is freezing, though, colder than I expected, and I frown as I step closer. She’s curled up under the blankets, her hair a dark tangle against the pillow. Her breathing is slow and steady, her face peaceful in sleep. The glass of water and the bottle of prescription sleep aids on her nightstand explains why the noise didn’t wake her. She’s shivering, though. Even in sleep, her body is trying to ward off the chill.
“Of course,” I mumble, leaning down. “You’d sleep through a blizzard.”
I brush my fingers against her cheek. She stirs but doesn’t wake, her lips parting on a quiet exhale. Carefully, I scoop her into my arms. She’s lighter than I remember, her body soft and pliant against mine. She murmurs something unintelligible but doesn’t wake, her head resting against my shoulder. I carry her downstairs, her body folding easily into my chest, the warmth of my body seeps into hers despite the chill.
The living room is warm now, the fire crackling steadily, its glow spilling across the mattress I set up in front of the hearth. I lower her onto it, careful not to jostle her too much, and pull the blankets around her until she’s cocooned. She sighs, turning slightly, her hand brushing the edge of the pillow.
I stand there for feels like an eternity, watching her sleep. Taking in the way her lashes rest against her cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows. She looks so small, so vulnerable, her body tucked tightly against itself. A slight tremor runs through her.
I knew the warmth from the fire could only go so far. Still, I hesitate, weighing all my options, but logic wins out. She stirs slightly as I lift the edge of the blanket and slide underneath it, but she doesn’t wake. So I shift closer, wrap an arm around her waist and pull her body to mine, her back to my front.
Her body fits against mine like it’s meant to. The curve of her back aligns perfectly with my chest, her head tucked just beneath my chin. I pull the blankets tighter around us, creating a cocoon of heat and light. Slowly, the tension in her body melts away as she warms up, her shivering subsiding as her breathing evens out again.
It’s intoxicating, how right she feels here. Like she belongs, as if this is the only place she’s ever meant to be. I tighten my hold just slightly, letting my hand rest against the curve of her hip. Her scent is soft and familiar, a heady mix of lavender that’s uniquely her.
The fire pops softly in the hearth, sending shadows dancing along the walls. I barely register it, my focus remains on her, on the sound of her breathing, the steady rhythm that lulls me into calm. I press my face into her hair, the silky strands brushing against my lips.
My eyelids flutter, then close, the warmth seep into my bones. My thoughts blur and my mind drifts as sleep pulls me under. My last thought is simple, but it grips me completely.
She feels so right in my arms, and I never want to let her go.
Even if she wakes up angry, it’ll be worth it.