Mark was asleep in a broad stripe of sunlight, lying on his side with his arm heavy across my chest. The skin under his eyes looked grey and papery with exhaustion. Normally his ability to sleep anywhere, at any time, was legendary, but perhaps he too had spent the nights of the last fortnight staring at the ceiling. It was very warm, especially underneath a large hot arm. I began to edge out from underneath it, and Mark stirred, frowning, and pulled me closer. I smiled to myself, threaded my fingers down between his and closed my eyes. When, blearily, I opened them again, the light had changed. It slanted across the far wall, the dull warm gold of evening, and gleamed on the battered varnish of the chest of drawers in the corner. The wrong corner, now that I came to think of it, and the window was in the wrong place too. It was too high and too far away, and I was drowsily wondering why when the hand cupping my left breast moved down to rest on my stomach instead.
What do You think about Chocolate Cake For Breakfast?
