Apr 19, 2010 00:11
The next morning, Jack doesn't wake easily. Mired in disturbing dreams, he tosses slightly as sleep eases its grip and as the dream fades and reality replaces it, he has a growing realization that he's not alone in the bed.
upstairs,
carl benton
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His long sleeved t-shirt is resting on the bed between them, after being stripped off in the middle of the night.
Not waking up. Ever.
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The fact that he can't remember much of the night before--other than drinking with Carl--and the fact that there's someone in his bed at the moment, forces him to brave the pain and take another glance. It's not long, but it's enough to take in the sight of Carl's head and bare shoulders sticking out from under the blanket, Carl's shirt lying between them.
For a moment, there's a single, near-panicked thought that shoots through Jack's head like a sniper's bullet; one he hasn't had in a long time.
Oh shit, what happened last night?
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"Buggeroffsun," he mumbles. "S'not time yet."
The entire bed is on rollers, and it feels like the mattress is floating on the water. He's not sure if the room is still spinning. He doesn't care. he just wants to sleep.
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