The dog barks, once, into the hallway, letting me know she’s up. She’s rummaging in the kitchen, laughing at the dog, who keeps sticking it’s nose into what she’s found. Stand in the doorway and listen to her for a little bit. It’s not the cruel laugh. This one’s softer, sounding like her soft low growl. I had thought her voice might change, get higher, as she spoke more, but it hasn’t. Whatever damage she sustained must be permanent. I don’t like that thought, but it does make her voice sexy. Can’t blame a guy for liking that.
The dog does that funny running in place thing that they do when they get excited, almost knocking her down. I stop myself before I yell at him for it. He did bark to alert me she was up, and has tried to watch over her from the first moment. A good dog.
A tangle of dark hair, her eyes, she looks at me over the top of the island. She disappears back down for a second, to make a dish of something for the dog, before standing up.
She’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt, barely covers her. A flicker of shyness, pulling at the bottom edge, before shaking her head. Dropping it. Pours me a cup of coffee, pushing it down the counter towards me. Reminding me of earlier. When I pinned her to the floor, knocking the wind out of her.
She turns back, to rummage some more in the fridge. I can hear her stomach growling from here. Makes me laugh a little, the thought of her crouched half naked in front of the fridge, finding something to eat.
Walk up to her, helping her up. Hold her for a minute. Her eye is still a little bloodshot, she looks down, rather than have me look at it.
“It’s all right, just a headache. I get them from time to time.”
“JUST a headache?”
She’s brushing it off as nothing. Fuck, maybe to her it IS nothing. Hold her chin up to me. Slow, soft kiss. Make her sit down at one of the stools along the side, take over rummaging in the fridge.
She pulls her feet up, to the edge of the stool, pulling her shirt over her knees. A hint of curls under the bottom edge of her shirt. Drinks her coffee.
“If I eat all this, I’ll explode.”
“From all that growling you’re doing, it’ll be a fight to keep you off my breakfast.”
A laugh at that. These bastards had steak in the fridge. The dog got two of them, raw. There wasn’t much else that looked good.
“How long do I have, Riddick.”
“We’ll dock in about twenty three hours.”
I get the feeling that isn’t entirely what she meant. How long does she have to live. Surgery could kill her. I don’t want to talk about it. Play with my steak.
“A surgeon can see you almost right away, once I sign the papers for this heap over.”
“So about twenty four hours.”
Her voice has gone soft. A deep breath. I expected crying, fear, not that smile. Another bite of steak, enjoying it thoroughly.
“I’d like to enjoy those hours, Riddick. Care to take care of that for me?”
“Yea, I can take care of you, I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“So don’t hurt me.”
© 20 Jan 2006, 13:01