on a cold, dark unfamiliar street, yet finally safe. She imagined what it looked like from an observer:
"... A dark neighbourhood, some lights in the windows." Her window: "... lights coming from an empty box," but that was only a trick because she was actually on the floor. On a mattress. In borrowed bedding. Snuggling against a comfortably worn pillow, listening to clamors of dinner being prepared from the open door.
Feeling so safe in her soft-bed armor; feeling spoiled as someone else made some dinner; feeling so reckless for leaving home, but altogether happier than she had ever been. She could only hope that this job was for real, that it would stick as sure as her ___. That she & him could remain happy together despite the unpleasant warnings and the reality that is life.
He came in with two bowls of salad. I wiggled and sat up, but only enough so just my eyes were peeking out from my blanket. Here I am, spoiled... but he's only taking care of me naturally; nothing out of the ordinary. He sits cross-legged at the edge of his mattress, and waits.
A short pause, just enough for me to bat my eyelashes playfully, just to be childish.
I smile, kiss him, and thank him for the luxurious meal we are about to enjoy. Before he can deny my praises, a fork is already in my mouth and I am fake-fainting in the blanket with taste-joy and feeling loved. Just us, this mattress, and our two salads. On-lookers would never suspect we were experiencing the paradise of our lives.
