Seventy

The bed is empty when I wake, panic grips me, I clutch the sheets hard enough to break a nail and my fingers scream in protest. Is he gone? My heart slows to a torturous beat and my hand stretches to touch Brandon's side of the bed. It is still warm. I close my eyes and release my breath. He is here. He didn't leave me again. But what if he has?

Streaks of sunlight filter into the room from the cracks in the curtain, casting a soft glow on the floor. I sit up slowly, the duvet rolls to my waist and a hand goes over my mouth to stifle my yawn. My eyes scan the room for him, hoping for his return or any sign he is still at home. Is he mad at me for last night stunt? He can’t be. I should be the one upset.

Shyness creeps up on me when I notice the full state of my undress, I pick my gown that had been folded at the foot of the bed. Embarrassment rattles my insides at the sight of my underwear which falls out of the pile, I don't put them