To Sleep
The first night, Jim blamed his cracked rib. He woke up constantly from the pain until he eventually dragged his doona and pillow down to the couch, stretching out with the heating pad against his chest and falling to slightly more steady sleep.
The second night he moved the heat pad upstairs to try and get a good night's sleep, only to find himself waking up. The pad was burning hot, his ribs ached, his feet were too cold. He went downstairs to get painkillers and finally managed to doze off fitfully in his armchair, watching Blair's feet twitch like a sleeping puppy's.
The third night he was out of explanations. He took painkillers before bed, he used the heating pad, but under a folded sheet to keep the heat even and mild, and he still woke up fifteen minutes later. And then five minutes after that. And ten minutes after that. And on and on for over two hours until he stomped back downstairs wearing his robe and put the kettle on, leaning his head against the central post while he listened to the kettle boil.
Tea made, he found himself gravitating to his room mate's doorway, watching him sleep while he sipped his tea. Watching and leaning became watching and sitting himself on the small chair that was for once free of books and clothes. He watched out the window for a while until his tea was finished, set the cup on a shelf and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
And finally slept.
The second night he moved the heat pad upstairs to try and get a good night's sleep, only to find himself waking up. The pad was burning hot, his ribs ached, his feet were too cold. He went downstairs to get painkillers and finally managed to doze off fitfully in his armchair, watching Blair's feet twitch like a sleeping puppy's.
The third night he was out of explanations. He took painkillers before bed, he used the heating pad, but under a folded sheet to keep the heat even and mild, and he still woke up fifteen minutes later. And then five minutes after that. And ten minutes after that. And on and on for over two hours until he stomped back downstairs wearing his robe and put the kettle on, leaning his head against the central post while he listened to the kettle boil.
Tea made, he found himself gravitating to his room mate's doorway, watching him sleep while he sipped his tea. Watching and leaning became watching and sitting himself on the small chair that was for once free of books and clothes. He watched out the window for a while until his tea was finished, set the cup on a shelf and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
And finally slept.