Zayela stirred in bed, her arms and legs stretching out over soft sheets she wasn't used to.
The mattress cradled her body, not like the mattress at their boiling egg of a house.
For the first time in ages, her muscles didn't ache. The silence around her was comforting.
She rolled over with a faint, sleepy smile, instinctively reaching for the warmth that should've been beside her.
"Nash..."
But the bed was empty.
Her hand brushed cool sheets. Her eyes blinked open.
Right... She was alone. He had only loaned her this place. Still, the impulse to wake him up and talk was so ingrained it caught her off-guard.
Sitting up, only in her black thong and a worn-out tank top, Zayela looked around. The room was ridiculous. Not in a bad way, in a "how-is-this-my-life" way.
The lighting was warm, the furniture minimal and tasteful, and the floor-to-ceiling window let in the light of morning.
