Love in Slow Motion

12. Reed

12 REED

Quinn makes it about four minutes into the movie before she falls asleep and about twenty-four minutes before she rolls over and cuddles up against me. My breath stutters out of me when her small, delicate hand settles against my chest, first just lying there gently and then curling into the fabric of my shirt, like she’s trying to keep me from leaving.

As if I ever could.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre is still playing on the TV, but my eyes are glued to Quinn. Her hair cascades around both of us, and even though I absolutely know that I shouldn’t, I reach up and run my fingertip down the curve of her ear. Her earlobe is so soft, soft enough that I can’t stop there. I have to trace the jut of her cheekbone and the sharp line of her jaw. She smells like vanilla. Good enough to eat.

She makes a humming noise in the back of her throat, and something stabs me in the gut. This is instinctual for her. Does she—or at least, the version of her in her sleep—think I’m Chase? Is she casually pressing her body all along the length of mine because she thinks I’m my brother, the man she’s slept next to all these years?

But even more than that, I have to wonder if I truly care. Or does it not matter who she thinks I am as long as she continues to burrow deeper into me? When she throws her leg over my knees, the delicious shape of her calf cradled against me, do I care that she probably feels this comfortable with me because she thinks I’m someone I’m not?

Or do I just want to let this happen…?

Let her hold me as tight as she wants to so that she can find some sort of peace through this entire stressful experience? I can’t even imagine what’s going on in her head, how truly abhorrent it must feel to have someone betray your trust so spectacularly and then have to be locked in a house with them for a whole week.

I take a lock of her hair between my thumb and forefinger, testing the texture and weight of it.

I’ll do anything to protect her from Chase. I’ll do anything to make sure she doesn’t get hurt again, that he doesn’t get a chance to rub salt into the wound. She deserves better than that, and I’ll do what I have to in order to make her feel safe and comfortable.

And so, I turn off the TV and the lamp that I can reach without disturbing her. I leave the other on, the golden light shining down onto her hair, and fall asleep with her wrapped around me like she’s never going disentangle our two bodies.