Twenty-Seven (Heather); Jetlag.
Tim's got jetlag. And looks absolutely feckin' gorgeous! He crashed out about five minutes ago, and he's dead to the world now. He really is something else! I gently tuck some of his grey-tinged curls behind his ear, smiling as he subconsciously moves closer to the fleeting warmth of my hand. He's - well - I guess beautiful is the wrong word... But it's the only one I can think of right now that really fits him......... He's amazing.
And me? I'm wide-awake, completely wired. I gave up trying to figure out how much sleep I haven't had about an hour ago! I'm tired, but so wide awake it's silly! Ah, how I remember the 'joys' of channel-hopping! I chuckle softly, surprised at how husky and low the sound is, coming from somewhere deep in my chest. I think I'm getting a cold. Or just getting old! That thought pulls another chuckle out of me, and Tim stirs slightly. Luckily he doesn't wake up --the poor thing needs his sleep!-- and I sigh contentedly. As much as I pretend to dislike it, and as much as I complain about everything from the government to the climate, I love England, and wherever I go it's always going to be 'home'. It's actually really nice, being here with Tim, and knowing that after Danny, Pixie and Aiden get out of quarentine they'll be here in this house too. It's going to make here really feel like a home. I'll be really sorry to leave it when filming's over!
But for now, here we are, sprawled (for want of a better word!) across the sofa in the lounge, Tim curled up almost in my lap, his head on my stomach. He's murmuring softly in his sleep, and I idly wonder what he's dreaming of. I hope it is a dream, as opposed to a nightmare. I know well enough that he gets them, I've heard him whimper and cry out before, sitting up shaking and drenched in sweat. He never tells me what causes it though, he just clams up, like someone's pulled the blinds down over his eyes. I hate seeing him like that, it reminds me too much of myself, so I don't ask him to talk about the nightmares anymore, I just hold him, smoothing his hair and whispering goodness-knows-what-shit in his ear to stop him from shaking. It usually works, but I fear the day it doesn't work, that he doesn't stop shaking. What will I do? Seeing him hurting causes an unpleasant pain in the base of my stomach. I hate it. I hate seeing him holding in all his demons and trying to fight them alone, not letting me help him.
Huh, like I'm one to talk! I glance idly down at my arms, covered in yet another long-sleeved t-shirt. If Tim finds out............. I bite my lip, shaking my head a little, partly to stop myself from imagining Tim's pained expression as he looks at me, the kind of wounded-animal-look, or the deprived child, and partly to clear the fuzz around my eyes. More tired than I thought. It's only five here, must be late in LA....
Chapter 26 ; Contents ; Chapter 28
