This is by far the weirdest situation I've woken up in so far.

I'm warm and snug, filled with feelings of well-being, like someone who finally got a good night's sleep, and opening my eyes, I can see watery light filtering through the openings between the thick curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow.

I'm in the big bed in the bedroom, wrapped in David's arms. I don't think we've even changed our positions since we got into bed last night... or early this morning. I've lost track of time.

David stirs in his sleep when I move my head from the hollow of his throat to look at his face. Enjoying these sweet moments before he wakes up, I run my eyes over the gentle slope of his nose, his bristle-covered jaw, soft lips and long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

This is awesome. 

I want to wake up like this every day for the rest of my life, except... I really need to go to the bathroom. Last night we rushed in here and went to sleep, not even daring to stop to fulfil any required bathroom-related tasks, and now my bladder is close to bursting.

"What?"David grunts, waking up too, blinking at me with sleepy eyes.

"Good morning," I whisper, suddenly feeling shy in this intimate position. When we went to sleep, it felt natural and normal to cuddle like this; both of us were exhausted physically and emotionally; now it just feels too personal.

"Good morning." A smile spreads on David's face, bringing a sparkle to his eyes when he realises that it is me he's looking at. He doesn't seem to feel awkward at all, following me with his eyes when I sit up straight. He stretches luxuriously when my body no longer obstructs his movements, and I realise that he must feel as stiff as I do after spending the entire night in one position. Or are my aching muscles a result of last night's staircase adventures?

"We're wearing all our clothes," he remarks with a grin.

"And we're in the bed and not in disappearing rooms or on the beach," I add, chuckling. "What a weird and wonderfully novel experience."

"Are you okay?" he asks, sitting up too, reaching out to tug a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers soft and gentle against my skin, causing me to shiver involuntarily.

Am I okay?

At the moment, I feel rested and content, but I know that once I give my brain a chance to go through everything that transpired yesterday, these feelings of contentment will dissipate like mist when the sun heats up.

"Yes, thank you," I smile, deciding not to allow myself to think too much. "I slept really well. How about you?"

"Yeah," he grimaces. "A little too well. What time is it?" He shoves his sleeve up his forearm to look at his watch and is startled by whatever he sees on the screen. "It's almost 1 p.m.!" he exclaims, giving me an appalled look. "We slept half the day away!'

"Wow, I guess we needed it." 

Well, David certainly did; I had some feverish naps when I had the chills. There's no sign of that anymore. One moment I was sick, and the next, I was fine again, and I don't think it was just David's amazing soup or the meds he gave me that cured me. 

"Do you think we did anything else in our sleep this time? Like painting or maybe some gardening?" That is not an unreasonable question, even if it feels strange to ask it. Still, I need an answer and feel somewhat apprehensive about what that answer might be.

"Man, I would love to wake up and see that I've shovelled the entire backyard and all the weeds are gone, and the pond is clean," David grins, but looking at his strong hands with the long tapered fingers, I can tell that he had not spent the night working in the garden. His hands are soil-free. He follows my gaze to his fingers and makes a disappointed face.

"That would've been wonderful," I sigh, watching him take my hands and lift them to inspect my scraped fingertips. All-in-all, they do not look too bad, and only one or two of the injuries hurt. "I would be in heaven if I went into the solarium and found that I've made enough suitable paintings for my evaluation."

"Though being here with you like this feels pretty close to heaven," David says, squeezing my hands. "I don't think we're quite there yet, because I'm ravenous, and hungry is a very earthly state to be in, as far as I know."

We sit quietly for a while, gazing into each other's eyes and listening to the silence around us. Somewhere outside, I can hear birds chirping, but other than that, all is quiet and at peace. Looking at the play of light on David's messy hair, it suddenly hits me.

"It's not raining!"

A slow smile spreads on David's face, his eyes growing mischievous. "Bummer, if it were raining, we'd have an excuse to stay right where we are now all day."

I giggle breathlessly, slipping my fingers from his hand, sliding off the bed, and getting to my feet. "I need to take a bath," I mutter nervously, hurrying to the bedroom door, where I stop, staring at the slab of carved wood as if I'm expecting it to bite me. I don't expect that, but I don't know what lurks on the other side. There might very well be something there that could bite... or stab... or drag. The sense of well-being my thoughts and feelings were lounging in is starting to flow away now, leaving me frightened.

I jump slightly when David suddenly squeezes my shoulders. I didn't even see or hear him leave the bed. I've noticed before that the man moves gracefully and quietly, like a panther. Unlike me, he's not constantly slamming his shins into furniture, walking into walls or falling over his own feet. I'm grateful when he passes me and opens the door to take a look outside.

"Nothing strange out here," he says after a few seconds and steps into the hallway. "I need a shower too. I'll guard the bathroom door while you bathe and make sure you're okay and take a shower when you're done."

His compassion and consideration warm my heart, but if he feels even remotely as grubby and stiff as I do, I definitely don't want him standing out in the hallway until I'm refreshed. That doesn't seem fair to me, no matter how frightening I find the idea of being separated from him.

"No, let's just not close the bathroom doors, so we can hear each other if something happens," I suggest, and David thinks it over, his eyes running over the closed doors in our short hallway, the stairs up to the solarium and the landing leading to the stairs down to the foyer. The path that still gives me chills when I see it, causing memories of being dragged to rush into my mind.

"Okay, that could work," he finally agrees, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorpost while I grab some clean clothes. Realising he does not want to leave me alone makes me happy and less afraid. I've never met someone who makes me feel as safe and cared for as David. Not even Craig. Definitely not... uhm... whatsisface... that guy I dated. I'm not even going to try to remember his name now. He has become a very vague, unimportant memory from another life.

I'm aware of something else too. David doesn't have much to wear, and with the bad weather we've been having, doing laundry is not an option. The sun might be shining weakly now, but for how long? I gather all the track pants, t-shirts and snuggly hoodies I borrowed from Craig and put them in piles on my bed. I didn't realise there were so many of them! I'm feeling a little guilty now, wondering if my poor cousin has been walking around naked since I left home.

"You can use these," I tell David, indicating the clothes I've sorted on my bed. He grins in amusement and gratitude when he sees the stacks I offer him. "What?" I shrug. "These are my favourite lounge-around-the-house clothes... I forgot that they would fit you... because they're Craig's..."

"You sure you didn't pack Craig too?" he chuckles, joining me at the bed to take a t-shirt and pants to change into.

"If I had, we'd be out of food by now," I assure him, and after thinking about it, I add, "and most of your antiques would've been destroyed."

"Thanks a lot, but do you still have things to wear now?" he asks, still amused.

"Yes, I brought almost all my clothes too," I inform him, and when he laughs, I narrow my eyes and slap him on the arm with what, to my horror, turns out to be my bra. "Don't judge, David. I wasn't planning on doing washing while I'm here," I grumble, shoving the underwear into the bundle in my other arm.

Chuckling, David follows me from the bedroom, and when I hesitate at the first bathroom door, he again offers to wait outside the door until I'm done. I'm resolved to be a big strong girl and not a terrified toddler for the duration of one quick bath, and after I assure him that I'll be fine, we part ways.

So far, so good.

Lying in the tub, enjoying the warm water relaxing my muscles, soaking away the tension, I listen to the shower running in the bathroom next door. It is a comforting sound, telling me that David is nearby. How is it that in such a short time, he'd become someone I cannot even imagine being without? I hope that once this is over and we get back to the real world, he'll stay in touch and not disappear from my life.

Will we still feel the same about each other when our lives return to normal? I really hope so. The thought of not seeing David anymore is causing my throat to swell shut with sadness.

I do not want to wash my hair right now. If I do it too often, my hair tends to become oily on top and dry at the ends. Twice a week is more than enough unless something specifically makes it dirty, so I've draped my hair like a curtain over the back of the bathtub to keep it dry while I wash myself.

Sighing blissfully, enjoying the fragrance of the bubble bath, I lie back against the side of the tub, sliding down until my chin touches the soapie foam, relishing the warm embrace and the steam rising mesmerizingly from the surface, drawing pretty pictures in the air around me. Though this feels extremely good, I cannot stay here forever; David will be done with his shower soon, and I don't want him to hang around on the landing waiting for me for too long. I lazily scoop some water onto my face to rinse the facewash I'd applied to it.

With my eyes closed, focused on scrubbing the residue from my skin, I feel the unmistakable sensation of spidery legs crawling over my scalp as something tugs on my hair. It jolts me upright, choking on the water I inhaled in fright, and I anxiously turn to look at the bathroom section behind the foot of the tub. There are myriads of water drops clinging stubbornly to my eyelashes, and I cannot see anything. Impatiently brushing over my eyes with agitated hands to rid them of the water, I try looking again, but the bathroom seems quite empty, except for my presence... 

I did not imagine it! I know what having your hair pulled feels like. Craig loves tugging at the ends of my long tresses whenever he wants my attention, and I'm lost in my drawings. No, I'm not going to freak out. There might be a logical explanation. Perhaps I am just overwrought and nervous. Maybe my hair got snared on a rough part along the edge of the bath, perhaps... 

Something bangs against the side of the tub, the sound echoing dully in the small room, sending vibrations through the water.

Terrified, I turn my head to look in the direction from where the sound came, but the shower curtain hides me from who or whatever might be lurking on that side of the tub. I left the curtains open because I didn't want to be surprised by intruders, and now the one section that is not open is hiding a visitor from me.

Taking short, harsh breaths, I struggle out of the bathtub with limbs that all want to go in their own directions, moving as if I'm manoeuvring them through molasses, not water. I'm relieved when I make it out of the tub without being grabbed by whatever messed with my hair and knocked against the bathtub just now.

"David," my voice has left me, and I sound like a hissing goose; there is no way he could've heard that. I frantically grab my towel from the railing against the wall and wrap it around my shaking body, bundling the edges together in my wet fists, pressed against my mouth to stop the harsh, whimpering breaths escaping from my lips, freaking me out even more. Casting frightened eyes around, scanning every corner of the small bathroom, I back towards the door.

I freeze, petrified, when the curtains move once... and then again. I am undoubtedly not just imagining it. I try calling David's name again when I hear the shower turning off next door, but my voice is still frozen in fear, my limbs moving jerkily, and I slip on the wet tiles more than once, hampering my progress to the door.

"Hello?!" I hiss in a shaky voice, mortified that I'm using such a mundane word to speak to something that may or may not want to kill me. I'm glad I used the toilet earlier, and the water running down my legs is just bathwater, forming a small puddle at my feet, making it even harder to sneak backwards properly.

I can hear myself breathing startlingly loud in the small bathroom with its echoes and its dripping silence. I almost miss the raging storm now. If the wind were howling, the windows were being pelted with vicious raindrops, and some convenient thunder rolled in the background, I wouldn't have to hear the fear in my every breath.

The curtain spams, and I can hear a sound, but I'm not sure what I'm hearing. Scratching. A sigh. A grunt. Then it moves again, and if before, I could tell myself it was just my imagination, I definitely cannot do that now because the movement is not subtle at all.

"David!" I scream, the sound bursting from my tight throat so suddenly and loud it propels me backwards in a blast of energy. I scream again, nearly dropping my towel when strong hands grab my shoulders from behind. 

"Belle, it's me, what's wrong?"

I lean back, melting into the warmth of David's voice, trembling under his comforting hands.

"There," I whimper, releasing one of my cramped hands from my towel to point at the bathtub. "There..."

"What?" David asks, and then he stiffens against my back. "Oh!"

I don't know if I'm relieved or upset that he is seeing it too. If he is seeing it, it means that I am not in some weird trance again, but it also means that I cannot just file this away with dead, attacking crows and stabby imaginary men. Though he sees the curtain move and hears the sounds, he is not backing out of the bathroom; instead, he is moving towards the bathtub. I almost lose my towel again, this time in an attempt to grab his arm.

"It's okay," he whispers, glancing at me before he carefully continues to move towards the tub. He has his towel draped around his bare shoulders and is wearing Craig's sweatpants. The one with the curry stains from when Craig and I were eating Tikka Masala while watching a movie, and we got scared and grabbed each other, spilling the food all over ourselves when a guy with a knife and a mask jumped out of the shadows. I miss that moment now. I was less scared then, even though the turmeric in the curry stained everything it touched.

David must've been drying his hair when my latest drama queen meltdown called him into the next La Belle Pêche soapie episode.

"It's okay, Belle," he assures me again, freeing his arm from my grasp. I nervously watch him skirt the bathtub, sneaking to the side where the curtains are now hanging annoyingly quiet, pretending they never moved, but then something knocks against the tub again, causing the water to stir with enough conviction to make me back away some more.

David grabs the curtain, bundling it in his hand, and yanking it towards him, unleashing a sound straight from the depths of hell. I now know the sound one hears just before you die, and fleeing from it with a howl of my own; I run out of the bathroom and onto the landing.

Struggling to keep my towel in place with one hand, I grab the nearest weapon - the lighthouse - in the other, getting ready to save David from whatever is attacking him in the bathroom. I'm about to run back inside, adrenaline and my fear of losing him overwhelming my fear of the unknown, and I nearly crash into David, leaving the bathroom.

I hurry to step out of his way and am horrified to see that he is wounded, blood trickling down the back of his hand and from a scratch on his chest. He is grinning a little dementedly, and in his arms, bundled in the towel he'd taken from his shoulders, is a feral-looking cat with large yellow eyes. It is hissing aggressively between demonic wails, making my blood run cold.

"Oh," I say after blinking dumbly at the image in front of me, and, feeling stupid, I put the lighthouse back in its place and re-adjust the escaping towel in an attempt to cover my wet body a little better.

"Look who came to say hi," David announces, his expression softening into a warm smile as if he is cradling a baby bunny and not a vicious feline that tried to remove his limbs only a few seconds ago. I don't think I've ever seen a man covered in scratches and his own blood grinning this broadly.

"Oh, yay," I say tonelessly, not quite over the shock yet. For a moment, I consider getting back in the tub, but I'm over it now. I'm clean. I'm cold. I'm fed up. "How... how did it get in?"

A frown smoothes the smile from David's face while he thinks it over, and he is right to look uneasy; I cannot think of an open window, door, or hole in the wall where the cat could've crawled through. This house has been solidly locked up at all times, and unless the cat can open doors, it couldn't have snuck in last night when we went to the utility room.

"Maybe he left paw prints to give us a hint," David shrugs. "Poor thing is wet and shivering. He must've been trying to hide from the rain. I think it only stopped recently."

I swear, if I see paw prints coming from the solarium, the cellar or the closet in the hallway, I will self-destruct. My mind churning with possibilities - none of them good - I slowly become aware of David running his eyes over me, his smile sneaking back on his face as he takes in my tangled hair and exposed body parts.

"I love your new look," he chuckles, and I toss my hair, offering him my most cheeky grin while I walk past him into the bathroom, staying well out of the reach of Hell-Kitty's claws.

"Thanks," I say, struggling to keep the quiver testifying to how shaken I still am out of my voice. "This is the look all the cool kids go for these days."

"Will you be okay getting dressed here while I take the cat to the kitchen to sort him out?"

"Are... are you going to throw him out?" As much as the cat scared me and is still scaring me with his howls and hisses, I don't want David to put him out of the house and leave him to the mercy of the storm that might start up again after this reprieve.

"No."

"You're not going to cook him?!" I exclaim as another possible translation for 'sort him out' jumps into my mind, and now David is looking at me as if I've lost my mind. I have. He should know that by now.

"Your brain really is a dark and sinister place," he chuckles. "No, I'm going to dry him off and feed him. Maybe that will stop him from trying to eat me."

I have my doubts. The animal is still spitting at him, revving up and making awful noises that I'm sure will call forth the hounds of hell and stir into action all the violent ghosts haunting this house. The cat is downright intimidating! I would actually feel safer if it wasn't here with me.

"I'll be down in a bit to take care of your scratches," I tell David, sounding braver than I'm feeling. "We don't know where those paws have been." With that, I hurry into the bathroom to get dressed before my courage can get a chance to leave me.

I must say, I am highly impressed to find David seated on the storage seat I've used as a bed on occasion, the cat purring beside him, when I finally make it into the kitchen. Did I take that long to dry my hair enough to put on my light green blouse without it getting dripped on? My heart skips a beat when David does a double take seeing me wearing one of my favourite Indian silk ankle-length skirts and a smudge of make-up. Yeah, I tried to look at least marginally pretty for a change.

Goodness knows, the guy has seen me looking seriously crappy the last couple of days.

"Wow, you look lovely. Are you going on a date?" he grins, stroking the obnoxious cat's head while the animal enjoys whatever pieces of food are in the small saucer he is eagerly eating from.

"That depends. Are you asking me out?"

I blush when David rises from the seat, leaving his new best friend behind to stand before me. He is wearing Craig's black 'Sorry I'm late, didn't want to quit without saving' t-shirt, and now that his hand and forearm are free of blood, I can barely see any scratches on it. They looked so much worse than they actually are.

"Yeah, I'll take you to the finest restaurant in the area," he grins, nodding towards the serving island where he'd already started to prepare breakfast. "Bacon's done; I was waiting to hear how you want your eggs."

"Best date ever," I smile, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my cheek against his chest, enjoying the steady sound of his heartbeat and the strength in his arms around me while I watch the new addition to our family lick its own butt. This is so perfect.

David scrambles our eggs while I butter the toast, and it isn't long before we're enjoying our breakfast, talking about the grey-striped cat purring loudly where it's curled up on the seat where David fed him.

"He calmed down quickly once he realised that I was trying to help him and not hurt him," David tells me. "He probably belongs to one of the neighbours and got stuck here when the bridge flooded. I'm not sure. There are some stray cats around, but this one doesn't seem like one. He's not starved or wild, just freaked out."

"Poor boy." I don't like imagining the animal out there all alone during the storms of the last couple of days. "I'm glad he found us."

"Me too."

"Next time," I turn around to tell the sleeping cat. "Just knock instead of barging into the bathroom and messing with my hair."

My fork clatters onto my plate, and the cat jumps from the seat, diving under the table with a yowl, when a couple of loud knocks come from the direction of the dining room.

"I was t-talking to the c-cat..." I stutter, nervously wrapping my fingers around David's hand.

I'm not surprised when he gets to his feet and, without hesitation, walks to the door pretending to be a cabinet, dividing the kitchen and the dining room. Doesn't anything scare this man? My hand in his doesn't deter him from carefully opening the door and looking into the dining room while I suffer from memories of figures glimpsed among the trees and in the windows above the utility room. Memories I've mostly ignored until now.

When he enters the dining room, I shuffle behind David, clinging to his hand with both of mine. Everything looks as it always has. The long table with a couple of large decorative bowls, the sideboards filled with cutlery, crockery and topped with portraits and ornaments.

The only different things are the open window knocking against its frame, its curtains flowing in and out of it as the wind fluctuates and the toppled ornaments and photographs on the sideboard underneath it.

"David," I croak, my voice hoarse with stress. "We're not alone in this place."

☼☼☼