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Although the inside of the cottage felt warm at first in comparison to the frigid air outside, the cold is now starting to wrap around me as I cross my arms over my chest to preserve some body warmth.
“Yea, sorry, I guess I should try to find the thermostat,” he says.
Setting the kettle to boil, Marcus walks around the room until he finds a small dial by the front door.
“This must be it,” he says and as he turns it, the sound of the boiler firing up hums within the walls. The vibration is comforting, adding to the temporary feeling of safety.
The kettle boils and Marcus makes our drinks, my heart warming when he puts one sugar in mine without asking.
We settle on the couch, me cradling my mug with both hands while Marcus holds his in one, his other arm wrapping around my shoulders. My head rests against his chest, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
We sip our drinks in comfortable silence. When we're done, Marcus sets his mug down on the coffee table, then takes mine and sets itdown beside his.
The silence in the cottage is overpowering, the only sounds being the hum of the boiler, the whistle of the wind outside the windows, and the pounding thrum of my pulse in my ears.
My mind drifts back to my flat, pain tugging at my heart as I remember the state we left it in. I imagine all the sounds I had grown so accustomed to over the past few months through the thin walls. The baby crying two doors down, the Bollywood music blaring from across the hall, Marlena constantly shouting into her phone next door, and the constant buzz of traffic outside. The silence here feels eerie, bordering on terrifying.
My eyes keep darting to the door, as though expecting something or someone to come bursting through at any moment, finding it difficult to break the habit of watching the mirrors, being on constant alert.
We don’t move again, neither of us daring to explore the rest of the house. We stay rooted in place, as though the couch itself is a refuge, even if the air feels thick. The reality that someone could still be behind us still hovers ever present in my mind.
I try to keep my eyes open, but with Marcus’s body heat beside me, exhaustion wins and darkness overpowers me.
Chapter 32
Lila
When I open my eyes, it takes a few moments to figure out where I am. My head is on Marcus’s leg, the fabric of his sweatpants soft beneath my cheek. I breathe in, the faint scent of him – a mix of wood and warmth – lingering in the air. The comforting weight of his hand rests gently on my back, the heat of his touch seeping through the fabric of my shirt.
I sit up slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light in the room. The inside lights of the cottage are still on, now mixed with beams of daylight filtering in around the curtains covering the French doors behind us and around the wooden board covering the kitchen window.
Marcus is asleep on the couch, sitting up, with his head leaned back against a cushion.
I glance at the door to make sure it’s still bolted. It is.
We made it through the night.
I let out a sigh of relief.
My neck is stiff, but I must have been in such a deep sleep that I don’t remember waking up even once.
I look at Marcus, his eyes still closed, his chest softly rising and falling with every peaceful breath. I smile as I imagine waking up next to him again the next morning, and the next… and the next…
Trying to quiet the butterflies suddenly causing a commotion in my stomach, I stand up, stretching my arms up to the ceiling. I go to the windows and open the shutters, letting the hazy morning light fill the space with its misty glow.
The rays fall on Marcus’s face, warming his eyelids as he stirs.
I watch him for a moment, my heart content with warmth.
I turn to look out the window, my breath stilling at the sight of the winter wonderland outside. A thick blanket of snow covers the ground and the car - a perfect picture of peace and serenity.
The night’s sleep had done wonders to restore a sense of safety, even if it is temporary. We’ve survived the night, and we haven’t been followed.
I look over Marcus’s car on the drive, both tyres I can see in tact and wing mirrors attached.
A groan rises from Marcus’s throat and I turn back to look at him, smiling warmly. He opens his eyes and looks around, his mouth breaking into a wide smile when he sees me.
“Morning,” I say, feeling my soul come alive as I imagine getting to saying that to him again.