There was water on her face. She wasn’t sure how it got there, but there was no denying that her cheeks were wet.
Off beyond her reach above the window the sun splayed light into the room. She hadn’t noticed before how bland everything was. The walls were dirty white. The tiny dressing table had once been close to cream but had faded years since to a non-descript beige. She hated beige and all things bland.
“How is the patient this morning?”
“No better than last night,” she answered.
“Too bad,” said the handsome man. “If you were better I was going to take you riding today.”
“Best not. I’m no fit company.”
“Eat your breakfast.” He pointed to a tray set below the sunny window. “I never make eggs except on special occasions.”
“Oh.”
“Why oh?”
“I don’t eat eggs.”
He shrugged at that and smiled and turned his back to her. He had a nice back. It was the kind of frame her girlfriends back home once might have swooned over and yammered on about on warm dark nights and grey-cold mornings. She wondered what his back would look like without the white shirt stretched across it.
“Why are you so quiet today?”
She turned her face to the wall and sighed. It was going to be one of those mornings.
“Why do you keep me here?”
“I have nothing better to do.”
“Is that a lie?”
“Could be.”
She could hear his footsteps but did not feel like raising her head away from the firm goose-down pillow.
“Is it true you don’t eat eggs?”
“Never touch them.” She paused. “Unless they’re in something better looking—like a soufflé.”
There was an extended silence.
“I’m not your goddamned gourmet chef,” he growled.
“I know,” she answered.
“Do you want to go hungry?”
“Not particularly.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
At that she raised her head and looked past him into the growing sunlight. “Immensely.”
The white light was dazzling. It continued to be so even after he moved to block the warm rays from shining onto her face.
“I could throw you out,” he threatened.
“Yes.”
“Do you doubt me?”
“Not for a moment.”
Her smile was nearly as bright and brittle as the surroundings, but not quite.
“Are you still going to make me eggs?” she asked.
“Only if you continue to tempt me.”
He dropped to his knees. The wooden floor was all-too hard compared to the softness of her cot. She was beginning to feel sleepy but now was not the time to close her eyes.
“Are you feeling better yet?”
“See for yourself,” she countered.
His kiss was hard and quick and his scratchy stubble left a red mark on her chin and cheek as it rasped against her. He leaned back, seemingly satisfied.
“You grow this out anymore and it might start to hide your dimples,” she mused.
He got up by pressing both hands against the mattress of the cot. His fingers were only inches away from where her naked body lay beneath the simple cotton sheet. She almost reached to bring his hand beneath the cotton, but decided it was too dully bright in the morning just yet.
The cot squeaked as she rolled over once more and closed her eyes to block his heavy stare from making any memories in her mind.
“You can go now. I’m tired.”
“You forgot something.”
“And take away the damn eggs.”