Exasperated, exhausted, he exhaled. As his breath rushed into the dark void of the room he stretched an arm, and let it drop. The fall made a satisfying muffled thud. A rousing shake and clinking tags announced the dog waking. "Shh shhh, no, no. It's not time to get up yet," the whispered words slipped through clenched teeth. The invisible mutt whined a yawn in response.
Beside him his daughter had snuggled in and stolen his position spooning his wife. Sound asleep from whatever nightmare had scared her from her bed to his only minutes before. Jealous, his eyes bathed them in envy as he looked over from the sliver of mattress left for him.
Foul panting wafted to his nostrils and he reached out to comfort the confused old dog. "Its ok, its ok."
Far from fluent in English, Rosetta mistook his goodwill as an invitation. Ready to follow his daughter's trail up the duvet, she stood on her hinds, and placed her paws at the foot of the bed. His eyes rolled in the darkness. Grabbing the edge of the cover he spent a few futile seconds shuffling the blankets in hope that the illusion of discomfort would discourage the dog. Undeterred in the slightest, the old girl scaled up, and let her weight drop down, cozying into the cavern between their bodies. Without any insecurity or hesitation Rosetta lay her victorious head upon his thigh. He gave up, and gave in. With a twist he contorted himself further and doled her an affectionate scratch behind her ears.
Glaring red from their digital clock sliced through the shadows of the bedroom staring him down like a demon. A three turned to a four, inching to his menacing alarm. Crawling to the foreboding day. A Tuesday. Not even halfway through the week. From the racks of his mind he tortured himself. Pulling mental limb from limb, twisting his anxiety. Going over and over how far from prepared or rested he'd be for the hell awaiting from nine to five. Like Sisyphus he lay cringed under the bastarding boulder's looming silhouette sitting on the horizon, and begged the dawn away.
He sighed. In truth, he loved his job. He was proud of where he was, and what he'd accomplished. That didn't stop him from hating the obligation. Or loathing time dragged away from his wife and children, regardless of the fact they were currently stealing his blankets and rest.
Sounds of soft snores cracked a smile from his frown. His wife had slipped back deep into her dream cycle. 'No use in complaining,' he figured, and relished the nostril symphony, snickering to himself. His hand clamped to his mouth as he held a louder laugh at a particular horrendous, and startling noise from his wife. While it was normal for her snores to be adorable, it was rare they'd shatter the silence. Rosetta raised her head in concern and he shook with laughter. He knew if he told her his wife in the morning that she'd woken the dog she would never believe him, and deny, deny, deny.
The sounds reminded him of when they started dating, when he began falling in love. The first nights spent with the warm gentle weight of her head on his chest, the pleasant surprise of her humanizing sleep sounds. She always fell asleep ahead of him- that still hadn't changed. When she did he'd decorate her brow with kisses as she slept. In an attempt to recreate the memory he twisted under what was left of the sheets. His daughter between him and his heart, he placed the kiss on the side of her head instead. His lips left her temple and he reached his arm over her and around his wife. Her hands found his through the darkness, through her sleep.
With their fingers threaded, child and dog intertwined and bundled between, his heart swelled. Its beats full and loud, sleep seemed impossible. The dog flipped over, kicked her legs, and placed her head on his feet as a pillow. Half his ass hung off the mattress, with little to none of the blankets left, he was far from comfortable and had but a few hours left before his alarm.
And yet.
Nothing could be as rejuvenating as this. One day, it would all be gone, his daughter grown and moved on with her life, his death inevitable, or worse- old age. His despair moved away from the few hours left in the night to the few nights left like this. One night would be the last night that his daughter came to their bed to protect her from nightmares. He prayed to anything that could hear him to keep that night far, far, far away from now. 'Not that I want my daughter to suffer from bad dreams,' he was quick to comfort himself, before deciding on a few gentle absurd terrors that could send her to him. 'Clowns perhaps. Normal clowns of course, not the kind from the hellish caverns of King's mind.'
Eyes closed, his mind wandered to old sleep meditations he'd done in his youth, then to his headphones sitting on the bedside table. Another shocking snort from his wife startled the silence, and with a smile he shook his head. How could he trade any sounds of these sleeping beauties? What could be better? If one could bottle these moments, these feelings, he'd drown himself in them before choosing sleep. He traced a finger along the tattoo across his chest, written in his wife's handwriting. They'd done well. And in the darkness on that sleepless night he found it again, as special as it always was. A place he never wanted to leave.