And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 95: Sleepless In Seaforth, Liverpool

If Cora had been having bad dreams, well, I think I beat her tonight.

    Tonight wasn't necessarily nightmarish like when they did a scene of Twilight Zone or something like that, it was nightmarish, like I was waiting for something. Tonight just felt like a ticking time bomb. It was uncanny.

    I couldn't sleep initially. And when I heard the rustling of the covers I knew she was turning over towards me. I did my best to keep my eyes closed because I didn't need to look at her to see her, in her little cream silk sleep shirt I bought her, (hopefully!) part of it slipping off her bare shoulder, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like the finest dark tea, the faint, the oddity of a slight smattering of freckles on her face, even though she was part Chinese.

    "John?" I heard her familiar velvety whisper.

    For some reason, I didn't open my eyes. I kept them closed and gathered from her movements that she was quietly getting out of bed and slipping into her shoes and pulling on her coat, and then shutting the door behind her.

    I debated going after her, a cold feeling seeping into my sleep-logged brain, but slumber tied me back into bed and I slept, dreaming, dreaming. Dreaming of bad things, like her leaving me. I kept reaching over to touch her but she was gone for so long. Eventually I broke from the sleep and threw the covers off of me, the quilt she had sourced secondhand somewhere. It was damn hot.

    The world was in limbo.

    I walked into the kitchen, the heat sticking to my body. I had gone to sleep in just boxer shorts and I leaned against the sink, looking at the tiny scrub and soap lying on the tin she had placed near the rim of the sink. I glanced up to the little area where across the kitchen counter I could see the table for two that we ate breakfast and almost expected to see her there in her little white sheer pajamas, the movement of her chest, up and down as she breathed deeply under the sheer material, her legs stretched out from where she sat in her usual seat, the smile on her lips, every etch of her face I knew so well...

I closed my eyes, thoughts of her going through my mind in a pink haze, and then opened them abruptly. My gaze landed on the bar of soap and my cock sprung to life.

What the fuck, John? Why are you getting hard over a bar of soap?

    I yanked my hand away from the elastic of my boxers. Not now. The night was too still, and I wasn't sure if I was still dreaming. But no one in my family was known for sleepwalking, that I knew, anyways.

    At least I knew mummy enough to know if she fuckin' sleepwalked.

    Who knew about the son of a bitch my father though.

    It was such a still night. Nothing moved. The clock in the kitchen read three and a quarter past. IN a bout of boredom, I gave myself a tour of our little apartment. The nook where we kept our shoes and the nook where we kept my guitar and her bass. The small closet we shared. Cora was neat and made sure I toed the line. I remembered inviting her up to my room, back when she still resisted my advances, and cleaning up quickly, but she turned the knob anyways and laughed at my reaction.

    There was a noise—a small turning of our doorknob and I jumped. Someone was walking inside. I stood frozen by the window in the kitchen until they reached the door, and then it became apparent it was Cora, back from wherever she went.

    Stood there, in her coat and hat and shoes, looking haunted. I stood facing her.

    "I can't fix you, John," were the first words from her mouth.

    "I know," I said from my spot near the sink.

    "But I can love you," she said quietly, reaching out her hands toward mine. "And I want to." It took me a split second before I reached out for her. "Hey, love, hey. Where did you go? You left m—you left."