chapter 38
JULIAN POLE
When I woke up again the first thing I noticed was the silence. It wasn't the kind that signifies rest, but the kind that feels like waiting. Like the air itself is holding its breath.
The bed beside me was empty. The sheets still held a residual warmth, which told me he hadn't been gone for long.
For a moment, I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. My body felt heavy with sleep, or perhaps with the lingering weight of the night before. My mind was foggy. The air in the room carried a faint scent of soap, pine, and him.
I rolled over and pressed my face into his side of the pillow. It felt pointless, but the scent lingered. That blend of clean cotton, his cologne and something else I couldn't place, like the smell of rain hitting dry concrete.
