Feeling self-conscious and dejected, I rearranged my shirt to try to cover more of my body, pulling the blanket on Steven's bed up over my breasts. My breathing slowed and my mind sped up as I processed what had just happened.
'How did I get myself into this ridiculous situation?' I thought to myself. Here I had planned to come to Steven's tonight - or last night, I remembered, noticing the clock - and break up with him. Instead, I end up cuddling all evening and getting more emotionally involved, and then climbing half naked into his bed and...
Just then, Steven walked back into the bedroom. He switched on a light, and I saw that he had pulled on a pair of rumpled shorts and a t-shirt. He walked up to the bed without a word, and rather awkwardly held out a red terrycloth bathrobe. When I just looked at him with a mix of confusion and apprehension, he dropped it at my feet.
"I thought we should talk. I'll be in the living room, okay? Do you need a hand to get there?"
I shook my head, and he left, quietly closing the door behind him, giving me privacy to put on the robe. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge, rubbing my face and smoothing down my hair. I carefully stood, and pulled the robe around my shoulders. I could smell him on the robe, and as I inhaled deeply, my guilt increased. Belting it tightly around my waist, I glanced quickly at a mirror, groaning inwardly at how wildly my hair hung off my head. I knew from long experience that nothing other than a shower would fix it; I sighed and limped out of the bedroom.
Instead of heading straight for the living room, I shuffled into the spare room where all my things were. I sat on the edge of the bed, and started getting changed. I left on Steven's shirt, but I slipped my bra on underneath, and then eased my sore leg into my scrub pants. After a couple of minutes, I heard Steven call my name; I told him I'd be a minute and went back to what I was doing.
Once I was fully dressed, I threw the rest of my clothes into the bag Steven had tucked under the chair, folded his bathrobe, quickly made the bed, and then headed towards the living room.
As I entered the main hall of the house, the dog padded up to me and licked my hand. Rolling my eyes and muttering 'troublemaker' under my breath, I patted the mutt on the head and kept limping towards the living room.
Steven raised an eyebrow when he saw me fully dressed, but didn't say anything. I didn't tell him how incapable I felt of being rational while wearing only his t-shirt and my panties. Even a bathrobe, that smelled so divinely masculine, was not going to help. I was going to be nervous and feel out of control until I was dressed.
When he noticed me hobbling, Steven rushed over and took my arm, helping me towards the couch on which I'd spent most of the evening. I sat, and he had another bag (or the same bag?) of frozen peas which he gently placed on my ankle. He sat in a chair across from me, watching me with his deep blue eyes.
We sat, silently, uncomfortably for a few minutes; Steven stared at me, and I stared at the floor. Finally I met his eyes. I couldn't stand the silence anymore. The appeal must have been apparent, because he nervously cleared his throat.
"Sarah? What were you doing in my bed, just now?"
I was completely taken aback by the question.
"Huh?" I asked, my usual eloquent self.
"I left you in the spare room. Why did you get into bed with me?"
He looked angry, or maybe hurt; my face scrunched up in confusion.
"Don't you remember?" I asked.
It was his turn to look puzzled.
"It's really the dog's fault, actually. He woke me up and practically dragged me down the hallway. You were dreaming."
"Dreaming?"
"Yes, Steven. That thing we do when we're in REM sleep. If I had to guess, you were having a nightmare, actually. It must have woken the dog. And he came to get me."
Steven's face was slowly turning red.
"Did I... did I say anything? Was I talking in my sleep?"
"You just kept saying 'no', over and over again. You were thrashing around, and I climbed onto the bed to try to wake you up."
"Oh God. You saw that?"
"Who's Cathy, Steven?"
Steven blanched, and visibly recoiled like he'd been punched.
"How do you know..." he started.
"Steven. Stop. You said the name when you first woke up. That's all I know. Do you really not remember any of this?"
Steven was shaking his head, as if in denial of not only the memory, but the whole event. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and his face became even paler, if that was possible.
"Oh God, Sarah. I didn't hit you, did I?"
