A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 59 | defining their romance

My eyes shot open to the chaos at the back of my head.

What was Dwain hiding?

Whose death prompted Dwain to engage in a street fight?

Instead of drifting soundly to sleep, I battled with my subconscious mind to get a grip on sanity.

Whose death persuaded Dwain to get stabbed in the back?

Relentless questions couldn't let me rest, they popped from every direction, steering a stubborn fire in me...a fire that birth distress.

Why did Dwain believe he was the cause of someone's death?

The night was a long one, yet there was no joy in committing to a peaceful sleep.

Who was dead and why was it a secret?

Shifting in bed to a comfortable position, I gazed out of the window.

A bright moon illuminated the darkness.

The moon was round and full, casting a gentle glow on everything.

Its light was so bright that it drew the outlines of trees and buildings outside.

The moon was very high up in the sky, casting a pale light over the bedroom.

As a strong wind hauled a few wet leaves to the window, I averted my gaze to the whitewashed ceiling, trying hard to ignore the sound of Dwain's loud snoring.

I'd never heard him snore.

He had never snored.

Or had he?

This was my first time hearing him snore, so I freaked out.

What if he couldn't breathe because of his poor sleeping position?

Dang, it!

It was my fault.

My whole ass fault for being dumb and stupid, wasn't it?

I bit my lips while muffling a frustrated cry of remorse.

Perhaps, if I hadn't asked him to lay far away from me, which left him no choice than snuggling to fit on the edge of the bed with no pillow, probably, he would have had a sound sleep without respiratory problems.

Which wife would disfavor her husband just to fulfill her rash cravings?

Dwain's snoring started like a soft rumble that grew louder and louder until it became impossible to ignore.

I tossed and turned, trying everything to drown out the noise, but nothing seemed to work.

Instead, Dwain's snoring got louder as the sound of a distant train, slowly chugging along, with a low and constant hum, which seemed to permeate every corner of the room.

I suspected that he might have a medical condition, but the snores were as loud and as regular as each preceding snore.

Anyone with a listening ear would testify that Dwain's snores were punctual.

Despite the disruption of my thoughts and my sleep, I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Dwain's peaceful sleeping face and the comfort it brought me just staring at his chest rising and falling evenly.

My attraction to Dwain was as big as Mount Everest and undeniable.

His gentle touch, warm embrace, and loving gaze sent shivers down my spine.

His infectious laughter and charming personality made my heart skip a beat.

Yet, I needed my beauty sleep.