Page 116 of Dante
I just look at her.
Marina's lips part. Her breath comes faster.
"Dante."
My name sounds different when she says it. Softer. Like a question she's afraid to ask.
"Yeah."
She doesn't say anything else.
The movie plays on. People run. Water rises. The violins keep playing because that's what the musicians did. They played until the end.
Marina shifts on the couch.
Closer.
My heart stops.
She moves again. Inch by inch. Closing the distance between us.
I don't breathe. Don't move. Don't do anything that might spook her.
Marina reaches the middle of the couch. Pauses.
Her eyes search my face. Looking for something. Permission. Rejection. I don't know.
I give her nothing. No encouragement. No resistance.
This has to be her choice.
She lifts the edge of her blanket.
Extends it toward me.
"You're probably cold," she says. Her voice is barely a whisper.
I'm not cold. The apartment is warm. My blood runs hot.
But I take the blanket anyway.
Marina drapes it over both of us. The fabric settles across my lap. Across hers. Connecting us.
She's close enough now.
Marina hesitates.
Then she leans her head against my shoulder.
I stop breathing.
Her hair brushes my neck. Soft. So fucking soft.
The weight of her head. The warmth of her body pressed against my arm.
I can't move.
I can't think.
