My Favourite Mistake

Her morning elegance, by Oren Lavie

He Said:

I need loud music to wake me up in the morning. I need the news in the background. I need the smell of coffee, burnt toast, corn flakes.
I need the shower on full strength. I need to jog when I'm not hungover, I need to jog sometimes when I am. I need my morning routine, it sets the tone for my day, and if its off, the whole day is off kilter. I had a "friend" stay over once. Her idea. She needed silence. She needed breakfast in bed, hugs, cuddles. She needed to read newspapers and talk about the day ahead. She needed to go home and let me start my day my way. Mornings are not for romancing, they're prep time for life. I can't prep on someone else's schedule and somewhere in my mind sleepovers are for kids. I know its something I'm going to have to adjust at some point. Some point far far away. And I'm already pissed about it.

She Said:

She woke up as light poured in. The pillow smudged: a mascara stain. Not the only stain. Another one lay, a little further away. She knew it was wrong. To let him in, into the bed. The only place that remained white and safe and just for her. But he had made his way, slowly, somehow, past the defence, past the centre back and into the six-yard box. She stirred, trying not to wake him. But he could feel her. Instinctively, he knew she was regretting, questioning, could almost hear the wheels in her mind turning. He offered her his arm, protectively. She declined, politely. Tiptoed out, walking softly over his jeans and socks. In the bathroom, the sun grew stronger as the tap dripped. She stared into the mirror but while she tried to reason with herself, a smile spread, betraying her. Back in the room, she glanced down at him, wrapped up in her sheets, his beautiful face suited her wrought-iron bed. She slipped in beside him. He turned to her, stroking the small of her back. She fell asleep again, fell hard, fell fast. And it felt so good.