|sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may,|
@ 2012-12-09 17:11:00
|Entry tags:||#solo, 2009-09-21, sam|
in the shadow of mother nature we find it hard to live our lives.
Sam had never had a room this big to himself before.
Actually, Sam hadn’t had a room of his own for years now. Sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed looking around at the space he’d been allotted he tried to remember exactly how old he’d been when his parents had taken that away from him and given it to someone else. The age wouldn’t come to him but he knew he’d been young, young enough that it had upset him, but not for long. His father hadn’t tolerated sniffling or whining and when Sam had trudged down to the basement that night to make a bed for himself out of the odd blankets and sheets no one else had any use for one side of his face had been sore from the single but solid blow Bastian had landed as punishment for Sam’s protests. He’d been lucky it hadn’t done more damage, his father had made sure to point that out, and after that Sam had resigned himself to making his bed in the basement and sleeping down there. The heating hadn’t worked properly downstairs, the house above made weird noises, and there was a small family of mice that had skittered around at night but it had been his own little space, in a way.
Nothing like this. There was a closet and a dresser, a window, an actual bed. Sam had caught himself going through the motions of making a makeshift bed in the corner before he realised what it was he was trying to strip the bedding from. Even then he’d perched himself on the window ledge and just stared at it for a while as if he expected it to disappear. He’d stayed like that for hours, not really moving, drawing his legs up with his heels on the very edge of the inner sill, making himself smaller as he stared. A lot had happened over the course of one day and by all rights he should have been exhausted -- and he was, his eyes kept dropping closed and his head nodded forward against his knees more than once -- but still he hadn’t climbed into the bed and gone to sleep. On the sill he’d stayed until the light had faded all the way and the owls beyond the property had started hooting and calling. The lamp on the nightstand had remained off, much like the one overhead, leaving only the light of the moon to illuminate the room, his shadow cast across the floor and the side of the bed.
At some point he’d dozed off like that, only waking when one of his feet had slipped from its perch and dropped down towards the floor, instinct jolting him awake and keeping him from slipping from the ledge altogether. He wouldn’t have had far to fall, only a couple of feet, but that didn’t stop him setting his other foot down and laying his hands, palms flat, against the sides of the window frame to balance himself. After that he’d moved to the foot of the bed, the first light of the day starting to creep above the horizon, bringing with it the dawn chorus and the sounds of movement from somewhere else in the house. Sam had stayed quiet, just listening, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, chin set atop them, eyes on the door, arms wrapped around his legs. Just listening.
That was how he’d spent the morning. Just sitting. Just listening. People had gone to work or school, voices had passed by the door, footsteps quick and slow shuffling along the carpet in the hall. Part of him had expected someone to come in and tell him to be on his way, everything was still in the bag he’d brought with him, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe they’d forgotten about him. Sam liked to be overlooked for the most part, if you were beneath notice it meant you couldn’t do anything to attract the wrong kind of attention. So he stayed quiet. Stayed still.
Until his eyes started slipping closed again, lower and lower until it was a battle to keep them open. The muscles down his back and through his shoulders and legs were aching, a cramp was settling through one of his thighs. He needed to move, get up off the floor, but he was so tired. When he let his head rock back it bounced a little off the foot of the bed, the soft mattress responding to the contact as it had been designed to. Sam blinked and looked back over his shoulder. He’d remade the bed after getting halfway through stripping it and it appeared just as it had when he’d arrived. Tidy, simple, clean. Inviting.
Sam felt himself move before he really registered what he was doing, untangling his arms and legs from around one another as he half-rose and gingerly set one hand on top of the bed. He pulled it back again as if he expected an alarm or klaxon to start blaring but nothing happened. Chewing his bottom lip he tried again, slowly setting his hand down on top of the blanket that lay atop the rest of the bedding. Nothing happened. No one came barrelling into the room to chide him, the bed didn’t disappear underneath his touch.
Almost curiously now Sam rose higher, sliding his hand further up the blanket before he lifted one knee up to set it on the bed as well. Still nothing happened, and so he kept going, every movement slow and cautious, the occasional apprehensive glance thrown to the door until finally he was on the bed, kneeling in the middle of it looking down at the comforter and blanket as if they might swallow him up at any moment. It felt odd. Not a bad kind of odd though. Soft. Carefully, gently, he rocked his weight up and down, feeling the mattress spring a little with each small bounce. When he smiled, even laughed, albeit quietly, he surprised himself. It made him freeze and look towards the door, breath held and every inch of him poised for flight.
Sam relaxed, slowly but surely, his eyes dropping to the bed again before tracking up the length up to the pillows at the head. He’d had a cushion back in Montana, just one, an old misshapen thing that didn’t match the others on the couch in the living room. But a pillow? And here there were two. With the same uncertainty he’d exhibited in initially clambering up onto the bed he crept towards the pillows, studying them as he went. When he touched one it felt soft, softer than the mattress, its shape shifting beneath his touch as it grew bolder. Pulling one into his lap he tried folding it. It folded but was quick to straighten out again when he released one end and another tentative little smile found its way onto his face. The second pillow felt much the same, and when he set the first down on top of it again they looked even more comfortable. Did he dare? His gaze turned to the door again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he weighed the pros and cons with an instinctive animal mind.
Just for a little while. Surely that would be all right.
Sam hadn’t slept on a bed in years, couldn’t even recall what it had been like to do so, but his body remembered it well enough and almost as soon as he set his head down on the pillows he was out, so exhausted that he didn’t even feel himself burrow beneath the covers for the extra warmth and comfort they provided, little things he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.