I can feel Jim’s breath warming the top of my head.
We freeze.
Neither of us are making any effort to turn the TV off. My eyes are fixed on the blue speckled carpet. I make my move, turn towards the TV and switch it off from the main button on the side. A deeper darkness clouds the room, the only light passing from the bathroom door which remains ajar. The intensity has passed, we can get back into bed now, fall into a desperately desired slumber.
I sit down on the bed but Jim takes my hand in his, pulling me back to standing upright, before him.
I dare to shift my gaze upwards, a lightness in my toes, my knees, my heart, as I take in his hair, his jawline, his lips, anything but his eyes. A strand of my still-damp hair is caught in my eyelashes, and I fidget a touch, pushing it out of the way. Jim lifts his other hand to assist me and allows it to linger in my hair. I look into his pale, narrowing eyes and we are locked together within a bubble of stillness, ready to bounce, ready to burst. What will happen if I blink? It’s all I can do to stop myself.
So, I move …
… Take a little step in towards him …
No.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
Just because I’m stuck in a hotel room with Jim, doesn’t mean I have to …
… But I want to. I want him.
And God, my fear of getting hurt is as powerful as the heat intensifying between us.
This isn’t supposed to …
It is happening. I falter, as if I’m standing at the beginning of a long tight rope. Can I do this? Can I fall into him? What if he doesn’t catch me? The feel of his fingers interlacing with mine sends a shockwave of electricity buzzing through me. He lowers his head further and I raise my chin, our lips inches apart.
Getting closer.
Closer.
And closer.
Unexpectedly, Jim steps back, abrupt, as if he’s been pulled out from the water.
His phone’s ringing.
‘It’s an unknown number,’ he says. ‘I’ve got to take it … Excuse me, love.’
Then, as Jim leaves the room, he mouths, ‘Sorry’, and goes out into the corridor.
I sit on the edge of the bed, anticipating his return, unsure of what to do with myself. Good God. We almost kissed. We very nearly, absolutely, totally almost fucking kissed. Jim! I can’t kiss Jim, can I? Will I kiss him once he comes back into the room? Is that what’s supposed to happen? The urge between us had been real.
I flick on the lamp and take a look around, the white bed sheets enticing me. I can hear Jim’s voice outside, a muffled distant echo of a half-audible disjointed conversation. Perhaps he says, ‘Helen’. And again. Whatever he’s saying, there’s no laughter and a certain urgency, the words, ‘Stop’, ‘Calm’, ‘Listen’, all repeating often. Then, even those words filter into distortion until they’re small noises too far away for me to hear at all.
The room falls quiet, the glow of the lamp a bright reminder of being alone. Of course, I can turn the TV back on, catch up on the news, wait for Jim to return. But what if he doesn’t want me to wait? What if nothing happening between us is exactly how it should be?
I pick up the towel from the carpet, fold it onto the chair. Then I place the empty bottles and snacks into the trash. I brush my teeth again.
The silence beckons me to darkness, to bed.
I wait another minute, maybe two … And then climb beneath my half of the duvet, switch off the lamp, and fall sound, sound asleep.
Daylight isn’t the only thing to wake me. It’s also the need to drink some water. The wine helped with the deep sleep, but I feel groggy, a dull weight sitting between my eyebrows. I don’t want to wake up properly just yet. My thoughts are quite consumed by Jim; I’m anxious to open my eyes and find him beside me.
Unless I’ve been dreaming. The kiss … no, the almost kiss …
What will I do once I open my eyes; once Jim opens his?
How my heart flutters.
Turn. After three, I say to myself. One, two, THREE.
But all I’m faced with is a sea of white cotton, Jim’s side of the bed still empty, the pillows missing. The bathroom light is on. I somehow recall turning