I look at the clock then back at the
gigantic dog sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. Where could she
be? Why isn’t she home yet? I reach for my phone and check for any missed calls
or messages; none. I’m starting to worry again.
Kearney trots over to me and I lay
down onto the couch again, sighing heavily with my hand over my forehead.
“Why isn’t she home yet!?” I cry out
to nobody (if Kearney understands then, to him). “It’s almost three in the morning.”
Kearney makes a low growl. I lift my
hand from my forehead and sit up, “I know she told me not to wait up for her
but it’s so late. What if something happened to her?”
He tilts his head adorably with his
big brown eyes shimmering.
“You stay here,” I stand, grabbing
my keys off the table, “I’ll be back in an hour or so, okay?”
I take my jacket from the hanger and
before leaving, I say, “Be a good boy, Kearney. Don’t trash the place.”
***
The building is empty except for the
receptionist photocopying a few documents at the front desk. I’m sort of a
familiar face to her already, we just exchange nods. I take the same route as I
did the first time I came. The foyer, still empty from my last visit; the
stacks of magazines are still in the same arrangement, the hallways are dim. Go
figure, it’s 3 in the morning.
I walk pass the auditorium where she
held a meeting (or presentation?) with Dr. Filmore. The atmosphere feels dead.
It’s nothing but the thumping of my feet and heartbeat against my chest.
Where is she?
I stay on guard in hopes to find a
door that’s ajar and seeing her in it.
Over-working isn’t the key to
successfully finishing your work in a sane manner. My collaborator said that to
me once. Since then, I’ve stopped sleeping late. It blocks my creative flow and
gives me… brain stuck or something.
Eventually the hallway is coated
with the moonlight. The walls are no more opaque but rather transparent. I see
the dark sky with a few grey clouds making their way across the moon. Framed
pictures of organisms start to appear as I keep moving down the hall.
Now the doors are labelled with
names. I pass one that says Dr. Filmore, it is shut tight and so are the rest
excluding one that’s on my left. I look up, read a familiar name, after that I
knock.
No one answers. It’s her office, is
it not?
I knock again but harder this time.
Still no answer.
Instead of sticking to common
courtesy, I let myself in.
Cold air fills the room from the
buzzing air-conditioner. It’s dark with a desk lamp on; shining its light on a
head of long, beautiful strands of hair. An arm lazily sticks out to the edge
of the table in between two tall stacks of papers.
I approach the stationary body.
Her back constantly rises and falls.
I scan her back for a few moments; from her shoulder blades and the way her
back arches to the desk. Her shirt bears some of the skin on her back. Then my
gaze tears away from her body and to see a mug with chocolate coloured liquid
that’s still exuding steam.
I kneel down next to her and nudge
her arm forcefully, “Wake up.”
She doesn’t move.
“It’s already 3 in the morning, wake
up. I’m taking you home,” I nudge again with the same amount of force.
Just then something makes rumbles on
the desk. I stand up and see her phone lighting up, vibrating. The caller I.D
is not listed in her contacts because… you know, it’s just a long line of
numbers, not a name.
I take it, and scavenge for her bag.
It sits in the corner of the room—just next to a big shelf full of knick-knacks
and a few pictures of us in picture frames. I can’t believe she didn’t throw it
away the last time we did spring cleaning in the apartment. This picture is
almost 10 years old.
I shake my head, trying to focus on
the real problem: trying to wake her up and let her get rest. But how? She’s one
heavy sleeper.
Just wake her up, David.
Right.
I repeat the same thing over and
over again. Unfortunately, she’s not waking up any moment. Time is running out
and so is my energy.
“Come on, wake up…”
Finally, the most incredible thing
happens: she moans! Well, that’s the first step.
“It’s almost 4 now, you have got to
go back home and sleep, please,” I whimper.
She nuzzles her forehead against her
forearm while moaning again, “I told you not to wait up for me.”
I stand up, “Well, I got worried!”
She blindly grabs my wrist and yanks
me down onto the floor. My wrist is throbbing.
Nothing wrong with getting worried
over your loved ones.
“I love you and all but I’m just
getting my power nap.”
She looks up at me, eye-to-eye with
circles forming under her eyes and her hair all over the place. I sweep away a
few strands from her face to see the dark stare with a soft and tired
expression. Her lips are pulled down in a frown while her details on her face
shows.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve met hell,”
she gestures to the towering stacks of paper by her sides.
I cringe at the word; she clamps her
hand over the mouth, “Sorry.”
“It’s cool,” I brush her arm with my
hand. “Come on, pack up. I’m bringing you home to get some sleep.”
“No,” she groans as she bangs the
desk, “I need to stay here and finish this. It’s due on Thursday.”
I took her arm and pull her out of
the seat but she opposes and sits back down. Wow, she’s really strong. To be fairly honest, I’d hate to get physical
with my fiancée. Instead, I just try to tap into that sleepy head of hers.
“Don’t you want to cuddle in bed
with me?” I put on my most persuasive tone at the same time swaying my body
next to her. Her posture sulks and her hand reaches to the mug.
“Don’t try to get me with your silly
propositions,” she sips loudly.
“I know you’d be lying if you say
you didn’t like cuddling with me,” I
wiggle my eyebrows in her face.
She glares the ugliest glare she
has. I chuckle under my breath, keeping my voice low.
“Just come home, please,” I whimper
again.
Her eyes are droopy, I can tell. In
attempt to stay awake, she blinks faster. Next, it finally happens; she yawns with her
mouth flinging wide open.
“You’re a mess and in need to go
home. Now come on!” I take her arms and put them around my neck. I push myself
back so her body can rest on it. Crouching low, I heave her weight onto my
back. Man, she’s kind of heavy. I let out a tiny ‘oof’ before standing up
slightly straight.
“I hate you,” she muffles in my
shirt. I laugh how her breath tickles through my shirt and onto my skin. I take her bag and switch off the lights, lock the door and head down the hallway. I leave the half-full mug alone on the desk.
“I love you. That’s why I’m doing
this—for your own good,” I hide my idiotic smile from her. She wriggles her way
up my ear then breathes out her words.
“I will get you in your sleep.”
“Oh yeah, scary,” I laugh some more
in the dim hallway. Her legs tighten around my waist; I feel her cheek press
down on my shoulder and her arms hanging loosely around my neck. Her cute combat boots lightly poking my sides
while I walk in a steady rhythm all the way out of the building. Suddenly
everything goes silent and right there, I know she’s asleep.
On the way out, the receptionist is
packing up, waiting for another one to take his or her shift. I nod at her and
say, “Got her.”