Title borrowed from lyrics of a song called Perfume and Promises, by Idina Menzel, which sort of inspired this little piece.

Another Morning

It had always fascinated her, watching him sleep. He looked impossibly more naïve then, defenseless as a child. There was this boyish innocence about him, one that made her think of home and lullabies and sweet dreams. His face was graceful; it was harder to detect at daylight. Nothing seemed to bother him in his sleep, not the cold and hunger that had been an inseparable part of their lives, not death or disease or fear of the future. His forehead remained clear of wrinkles, except for when he was dreaming. She loved the way a strand of blond hair fell against his closed eyes every now and again, the way he breathed, softly, soundlessly. Most of all, she loved his obliviousness to that guilty pleasure of hers. It was her darkest, most well-kept secret.

Dawn was breaking. She started at the sight of sunrise, drawing patterns against the tangled sheets. She had been awake for hours, thinking, pondering. Even her old habit of studying his face had failed to comfort her. She was too anxious to be distracted by it. Her mind was far too alert and restless. It felt as if there was an invisible hour glass on her shoulder, in which most of the sand had already run out. She had been putting it off for too long, telling herself she would stay just one day longer. But each morning became another one, and then another, and it had become impossible to just walk away. She had given him hope, made him promises, promises she had no right nourishing. Promises she was now forced to break.

Leaning her head on her arm, she stole another glance at him. His chest was rising and falling with each breath he took. There was this vulnerability about him without his glasses, as if they had the power to shield him from the outside world. It was almost as if he had let all his defenses drop when he slept. The sheets fell at his waist, and the sun beams were dancing across his pallid chest. Sudden breeze blew into the room through the open window. He shivered a bit, and she held her breath in momentary alarm, but he didn't wake up. He had never had.

The serenity in his expression was heart-wrenching, especially since she knew it wasn't going to last. After weeks of hesitation and sleepless nights just like this one, that day she was resolved. There wouldn't be another morning. She wasn't even sure what had enhanced it. She didn't know how to do it or what to say. Dozen scenarios played through her head, keeping her awake all night. She had always been the actress, but this was the one show she wasn't looking forward to. However, stalling it further meant making things worse. If one thing was clear to her, this was it. It had to happen. She had to end it.

She's watching her now, but it's hardly the same. The habit has shifted from a guilty pleasure to an obligation almost, something to keep her mind off insomnia, like smoking or watching TV. It lacks the thrill she has felt back then, that buzz of excitement whenever he stirred, the constant wondering of whether or not he was going to catch her this time. She dreads getting caught now, knowing that if she is, she won't be teased, but reproached. She has enough of that at daytime.

Her face is easier to read. This is partly the reason why the magic of the habit has worn off. She's kind of predictable. She worries about her work even in her sleep. She never truly rests; she doesn't allow herself to. This is why she's edgier recently. Every little thing sets her off. It makes her wonder whether it is indeed the case. Maybe she's been oblivious to what has always been there, just below the surface. Maybe she has always been this cranky, but beneath the spell of newly-found love, it was impossible to detect. He has never let things like that get to him, she thinks with sudden resentment. It's as if that time of day (of night, really) has been sacred to him.

She finds herself comparing them, despite herself, old lover and new one. Funny, she's always thought they were each other's perfect reflections, but laying them side by side, all she comes up with are opposites. Mark's soft profile, Joanne's stronger one. Mark's constant support, Joanne's endless critique. Security and unease. Comfort and doubt. Vanilla and chocolate. Fire and ice. Love and something close to it, but not quite.

She freezes as this last thought hits her, uncertain where it has come from. Realization begins to creep in, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, swift enough to make her dizzy, like after the craziest rollercoaster ride. The more she tries to shake it off, the harder it clings. It claws its way around her heart, merciless and persistent. It's as if the very room is closing in on her. She's so panicked she can hardly breathe. She steals a glance at Joanne, but she sleeps on, oblivious to her distress.

She has never been one for second thoughts, but now they overpower her. All this time she believed they were wrong for one another. Almost from the moment she became involved with him, she feared she'd bring him down. She told herself that she didn't deserve a guy like him, that she'd end up hurting him. It was different than everything she had known, and it petrified her. She became so obsessed with scrutinizing the negative aspects of their relationship that she had never stopped to consider how right it had been. She didn't realize how truly amazing it was… until it was no longer.

She knows, however, that whatever she does, he'll always be there for her. She has once considered it a silly trait. She remembers teasing him endlessly about how he's been more loyal than a puppy. It is only in its absence that she's begun to appreciate it. Now she admires this aspect of his character. He'll never look down on her or question her choices like others often do. Even after everything that's happened, after everything she's put him through, he is always willing to take her call.

It's numb, but the sensation is definitely still there, deep within her. And now, when more memories rush in, old emotion slowly awakens, and she's overwhelmed with its intensity. She loves him. It's twisted and wrong, but she does. And there's nothing she can do to change it. It's so clear now, prickling just beneath her skin, trying to break free. There's this yearning within her. Suddenly, she longs for different arms to be held in, a different bed to share, a different face to study.

She looks at Joanne's face and remembers the resolve she has felt back then, when she decided to leave Mark for her. It's different now, knowing she doesn't have safe arms to find refuge in once the deed is done. It's a risk, but she'd rather take it than live in another lie. Breaking more promises is the last thing she wants. The memory of his agonized expression is hard to repress, impossible to erase. Something tells her it won't be the same with Joanne. This realization hurts, more than she intends it to.

She's learned from past mistakes. She has made a decision, and she's determined to follow it no matter what it takes, before more damage is done. If she's honest with herself, though, she's scared shitless. For someone as over-confident as she is, uncertainty is terrifying. She doesn't know where she's going to spend the next night, or how she's going to convince Mark to take her back. The future sort of hangs there, a dark shadow above her head. The only thing she knows for certain is that there cannot be another morning. It has to happen.

She has to end it.

Thanks for reading. Please review if you liked it. Also, make sure to check out Still in the Dark, the story I'm co-writing with Madame Hatter. It's a sequel to a previous story by us called I Should Tell You, and you can find the link in my profile.