Read Online Perfections by Kirstyn McDermott - Free Book Online

empty as the rest of the bed.
    And, just for a second, Antoinette doubts. Allows herself to think that maybe, just maybe, it was all a dream, some crazy-eyed fantasy spun from alcohol and grief and the kind of imagination that’s better left to bounce against padded walls.
    But only for a second.
    Because she knows , because she feels . It’s real. He is real. He must be.
    Antoinette gets out of bed, wincing as her injured foot hits the floor. Still in her work clothes, she feels stale and constricted, her white blouse now crumpled, smelling of old sweat, and she reaches up beneath it, rubs at the spots where her bra has dug into sleep-soft flesh. A shower is what she needs, coconut bodywash and water so hot it all but blisters skin; a shower, and a clock – because she has no idea what time it is, what day even – but there’s one thing she needs even more.
    The hall is dark except for a slim line of light shining beneath the closed study door. Without allowing herself time for second thoughts, Antoinette limps across and turns the handle, belatedly rapping her knuckles on the door as she pushes it open. ‘Hello? You in here?’
    He turns to face her, swivelling in his chair with an easy, open grin. ‘Lo! Sleeping beauty awakens!’
    He’s tidied the room, returned the futon to its sofa state and piled her stuff neatly on top of it. Behind him, Jacqueline’s computer hums, what looks like a page from Wikipedia open on the screen, but that isn’t what grabs Antoinette’s attention, what makes her burst into laughter.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, covering her mouth with her hands. ‘Is that my dressing gown?’
    ‘I was cold.’ He pulls the faded pink terrycloth tighter across his chest. ‘It’s all I could find that would fit. Sort of.’
    Antoinette tries to stop smirking. The robe is absurd, purple appliqué ponies cavorting across a background the colour of fairy floss, and she would have sent it off to Vinnies years ago except that it was a thirteenth birthday present from her grandmother – her mother’s mother, who died soon afterwards. At least two sizes too big back then, it fits her comfortably now, and despite the numerous coffee stains and the rip on one sleeve – inexpertly repaired but holding – she can’t bear to let it go.
    On him, it looks at once ludicrous and strangely endearing.
    ‘We’ll have to get you some clothes,’ Antoinette says.
    His grin returns, wider than ever, as he rises from the chair. ‘If you say so.’ It only takes him a couple of steps to reach her, and Antoinette puts out her hand when he gets near, flattens a palm against his chest. Still warm, still solid.
    ‘Can I just . . .’ She leans forward and presses her ear over the place where his heart should be, her breath held tight in her lungs. Listening, listening, and when she hears it, the faint but steady rhythm, it sounds like magic. Feels like magic, the shiver that spreads across her skin, that thrums through her bones. Because can there be any other word for it? One day he wasn’t here – wasn’t anywhere – and now he’s standing before her, hand cradling her head as this unseen muscle beats and beats and beats, the fact of him so real, so big , it leaves no space for questioning.
    ‘Incredible,’ Antoinette whispers.
    He takes her chin in his hand, tilts her gaze to meet his own. ‘Yours,’ he says, and lowers his head towards hers.

    Jacqueline inches away from the boy newly slumped on the couch at her side. His sweaty arm rubs against hers and she wrinkles her nose at the odour that wafts from his body. He grins at her, head bobbing in time with the music. At least in Merde’s upstairs lounge the sound of the band is somewhat muted, their drums and synths blending to a harmless, syncopated beat. The vocal drone is just another instrument. Woodwind perhaps, or pipe organ.
    ‘You want a drink?’ the boy yells in her ear.
    ‘No thanks.’ Jacqueline smiles, carefully bland. She looks