My blanket cocoon

I hear the bedroom door handle release and the smell of coffee slips through.  'Wakey, Wakey,' he announces to the twisted blankets as he comes to a standstill by the bed. When I don't answer, he places the cup down firmly on the bedside table.

'Babe?' He lets the question hang in the musty air. 'Time to get up.' I imagine pulling the covers back and saying a cheery 'morning' as I pat down my bed hair. But instead, I say nothing. I don't move an inch. 'I'm coming in,' he says.

I feel cool air on my toes as he peels back the covers at the base of the bed. His smooth fingers tickle the soles of my feet. When I don't flinch his hands lock around my ankles. He gives my body a tug as if he's weighing his options. Could he drag me out of bed if it came down to it? Satisfied that he could, he releases me and goes with his second option.

I clamp down my eyelids as he climbs under the covers and begins crawling his way up the bed. His warm breath prickles my neck as he settles in beside me. I remain in the foetal position, back to him, resisting the urge to look. If I meet his blue eyes and linger on his face for too long I won't be able to pretend everything is okay, that I'm not hurting him. But if I am honest with myself, I've known for a while now that his restless demeanour, his words spoken through a clenched jaw, his hands balled into frustrated fists, were my doing.

He tucks the blankets back around us and I hear his breaths slow until they fall into sync with mine. 'I can't see you like this anymore.' His words hang heavy in the space between his pillow and mine. 'And it's been weeks, like weeks, of ... this.' I don't know what to say. It has been weeks.

'I.want.to.get.outofbedbutIcan't.' The words tumble out, before picking up speed and tapering off in a sob.