"Neva? Wake up," Ishmael urged.
His eyes laced in concern because of a whimpering Neva, haunted by a terror of a night.
"Neva," he lightly patted her cheek, his torso now raised, an elbow shored on the bed. The frown lining in his brows deepened.
Neva had her eyes veiled tight, forehead creased, and face fallen.
Big drop of tears, rolling down her temple, soaking the white pillow, unfurled over by her long disheaveled locks.
Ishmael hovered over Neva, he drew away her moist curly hair, sticking to her forehead.
Little sobs vibrated her chest, her lips pursed, Neva was drenched in her own sweat.
"Wake up love,"
Her shut lids clenched.
He lightly shook her trembling body, but the sharp claws of nightmare refused to let her go.
Her sobs only intensified, Ishmael held her shoulders and shook her as careful as he could, this time she was rudely gasped her awake.
"Hey, are you okay?" He caressed her face.
Neva's faint vision unveiled his worried gaze. The tears streaming, still unceasing, she swallowed.
"What–what happened?" She whispered, her eyes red and swollen eyes.
He sighed, easing. "You were crying. Did you have a nightmare?" He leaned down and pecked her forehead.
"I don't remember," Neva said, her hand reaching to feel the lines of water, flowing down her temple.
Unknown to her, more tears spilled out, and she frowned; for she wasn't aware, the reason for such sharp sting in her chest.
He looked at her, with those shadowy orbs with ocean of emotions. "It must be a bad dream."
"Just a bad dream."
He barely sounded out the last words, as if he spoke to himself, assuring himself.
"Come here," laying down on his side of bed, he brought her close to his chest.
His arms wrapped around her frame.
She was still, her eyes wide and aroused, endeavouring to wipe away the dew on the surface of the blurry window of her dream, now fading away slowly.
Long was left of the cold night.
His chin resting on her head, he was stroking her hair to put her back to sleep—to a colourless night; where she won't far away anymore, through beautiful dreams, or terrifying nightmares.
Her mind was shattered of peace, and she was threaded stiffer with the webs of wonder, for her husband's embrace did not possess the strength to penetrate into her frozen senses.
---
Earthy scent stirred with sweet autumn apples, and traces of figs and eucalyptus trees, whispering with the chilly wind overwhelmed the crisp smell of rotting leaves and trees—merging slow with the dust.
The late afternoon was warm, hazy sun rays seeping through the ajar black and grey branches, rippling with swaying bright yellow and orange leaves—with tints of exploring red garnishing.
Deep in the forest, the gurgles of stream from a close distant murmered in the ears.
The susurrus of autumn breeze drifting by, floated Neva's free hair strands lacing the sides of a serene face, wishing to fly along, only to part in pain, for the soul still longed for the flesh.
She was sunk down there, her back resting on Ishmael's chest, his own held against the orphic, towering maple tree.
He held her close, running her dark curls, waving along smoothly, and so lovingly with those rough fingers.
While Neva had her eyes intertwined with the dancing letters over white pages of a book.
The air was comforting, they were hushed and warm, tangled with the frame of the other.
She flipped the cleared paper, fluttering lightly with the wind.
"Do you feel cold?" Ishmael's chasmal voice, raveled with hot breath fanned over her ear. Neva shook her head, "I'm warm enough."
The coral tree hued, open front cardigan over her white dress, engulfed by the heat of his strong arms embracing her—soaking through her garments into the pores.
In response, he only closened her impossibly to his body. A pleated red and black blanket lay sprawled under, a wicker picnic basket neatly placed beside them, with all the unfinished pies, cake and fruits swallowed inside.
Kissing the crown of her head, he propped his chin on her shoulder. "It feels like we're back to when we were kids." He breathed in deep in her fragrance, a rare smile blooming on his face.
Neva tilted her head up to look at him, "When we were kids?"
"Hmm," threading the eyes, he kissed her lips. Neva blinked at him, with the enchanted husband melting from her adorable cocoa orbs and kissing her again.
Fondling away her hair, he smeared long and soft smooches on the fair, bare neck.
Neva reaching behind, caressed the side of his face, her eyes closed—aware of the mellowing heart.
"You are like a dream. Dreams I had every night after you went away." He phrased, showering kisses along her jaw.
"I always have this fear lingering inside that you're just an illusion."
He consumed her lips in a heated kiss, as if he needed to absorb her to cling to life.
Pushing him away gently, Neva glanced away. Her breathing heavy, rosy stained cheeks flaming; while her chest still remained tightened.
"Well, I'm truly around." She put forth, as his arms wrapped her delicate form in a tight secure.
"And you'll never be able to leave me again." He affirmed, rather stringently, his tone dripping in avarice. "Tell me more about when we were children." Neva prompted, her thoughts running empty.
"You were a mischievous girl, a real trouble maker," he chuckled. "But you were my kind and sweet girl." Ishmael smiled at her, mirroring a small curve of her lips, for the sparks in his eyes succoured her heart.
"You didn't tell me how grandpa died?" Neva asked. He shook his head, "I'll tell you everything, for now you can only rely on bits and pieces."
He entangled their fingers. "After all, we have a lot of time ahead, awaiting us." He said and pecked her forehead.
"Yes," Neva whispered.
"Have you decided on their names?" Ishmael asked, caressing her swollen belly.
"Not yet. Have you?" Neva probed.
His phone rang interrupting before he could answer, severing their peaceful while.
"Let me take this call," he said.
She nodded in return, following the wonder swirling in her eyes for a frown replaced serenity in those handsome features as he spoke to the person on the line.
"Tell them to leave if it's not important." He hanged up the call and threw the device beside on the blanket.
"Is something up?"
"No."
Just then, his serrated senses were alarmed by the rustling of leaves, walked on by a person, seemingly coming from afar.
He was instantly irked by the intrusion from the unwelcome visitors.
"What's—" "Hey! There you are!" A loud yell cut off Neva's words.
Ishmael sighed irritated.
"Man the signal here's fucking crazy," The man following behind the long haired man grumbled, waving his phone over his head.
"Who are they?" Neva inquired, sitting up straight, while he gazed at her faring figure, already missing her warmth.
"None of significant." He remarked.
"What nice air," the man with wavy chestnut hair uttered, sniffing with his eyes closed.
"Scram!"
Jacob was shocked, his expression hurt, a hand clutching his chest. "Brother, how can you say that?"
Ishmael rolled his eyes.
Jacob smiled, his eyes trailing to Neva seated there uncomfortably with her lips pursed.
"What a beauty," he murmered to himself.
"So she's the muse to die for ?" The tall, slender but we'll built man walking beside Jacob pressed with a brow raised.
Ishmael ignored him. Then his gaze landed on Neva, uncomfortably shifting on her place from the blaring focus on her.
She flinched as the man abruptly hurdled before her.
"Lucas," Ishmael warned.
The black haired man on all fours, his head tilted, he looked close at a wide-eyed Neva.
"You really are a beauty worth me."
Then he slowly retreated, for a bloodthirsty aura loomed over him.
Glancing at a grim Ishmael, he grinned.
"I'm just here for the food." He corrected, hands snaking for the picnic basket.