Heather's eyelids fluttered open slowly. Something heavy was pressing down on her chest.
It felt like someone had dropped a full sack of cement on her while she slept.
She blinked against the morning light, trying to move. Nothing. Her limbs barely twitched. In her head, she was thrashing.
In reality, she was a motionless heap under a blanket of weight.
Panic began to stir.
Her breath hitched.
Was this a stroke? Was this how it started?
Her heart started racing, and without thinking, she let out a small, pathetic sob—half out of fear and half confusion.
That was when the weight shifted.
It moved.
Somene snuggled in tighter.
She felt a warm arm drop across her waist and a hand flop lazily in front of her.
Her eyes focused just in time to see the hand—long fingers and familiar calluses.
She smacked it.
"Wake up, Caius. You're suffocating me!"
But he refused to move.
She pushed at his chest weakly. "Get up! You are killing me!"
That seemed to stir him.
