Antimatter Blues (Mickey7, #2)

by Edward Ashton

WE DON’T SLEEP much once we get back to our room. It’s not spoken, but I think we both have a strong feeling that this might be the last time we share a bed. Even when we’re done, she doesn’t roll away from me. Her legs twine around mine and her weight settles onto my chest, and as I start to drift I can almost imagine that she’s slipping through me, that I can feel her fingers brush past skin and muscle and ribs to curl lightly around my heart. I close my eyes, breathe her in, and wait for morning.

I guess it’s just not in our nature to face the unknown empty-handed.