The Silence
The kitchen tiles are cold against my bare feet as I sit on the floor leaning against the counter, entrapped in her gold colored gaze. She sits opposite me, extremely still. We haven’t had a night like this in weeks.
Things seemed better. Our eyes bore into one another’s in the smoke-filled room. We’ve been sitting like this for hours now.
I take a drag of my cigarette as she takes another hit of the joint. Then we swap. It’s a routine on nights like these. For a moment, she breaks the gaze to look across the room.
I take the time to drink her in.
Her 2 am, tear stained, black and blue bags under her bloodshot eyes, her wild, black hair loose, washed out toffee skin, her fresh cuts on her wrist visible. Even when things get better, this cloud hangs over us. It is a cloud of fear and sadness that lingers even throughout the times of sunshine and light.
We lock eyes again.
Both the nicotine and THC have settled within us. It eases the tension. She suddenly moves, leaning forward and crawling on her knees towards me, slowly. The intimacy in her actions swell within me. But it’s not sexual, it’s a predatory caution. I am hypnotized to stay still and she continues her cat-like movements towards me, never breaking the contact in our eyes. When she is finally directly in front of me, she puts out the finished cigarette in the ashtray and removes the joint from my fingers, taking a long drag and blowing it back in my face. She hands it back to me. As I take it in my fingers she swiftly turns and places herself in between my legs.
I wrap myself around her, taking in her scent, musky with cigarette smoke and perfume. My hands softly move through her thick locks and she leans further back into me, her eyes beginning to close. Her hands fidget with her phone for a moment before soft melodic music begins to fill the kitchen. She sways to it. I tighten my grip around her and slowly rise, supporting her along the way up. She never falters or hesitates. She doesn’t even look at me until I turn her around to face me. I take her phone and gently place it on the counter. Taking her small soft hands in mine, I proceed to place soft kisses on her wrists, on her scars. Lingering on her fresh cuts that have been cleaned and bandaged. She places both arms around my neck, drawing us closer together as I snake my arms around her waist.
We sway slowly to the instrumental piece. Our bodies are so close that her unruly hair is in my nose, and my breath dances on her neck. Neither of us mind. I take her chin in my fingers and guide her to look at me. We both stare at one another, emotionless. I lick my lips and bring them down onto her full ones. First, they are soft, chaste kisses. But as we continue to sway they become needy and our bodies pressed together, desperately trying to close any space between us. I unbutton my shirt as she slips out of her sundress and turns towards her bedroom. I follow.
My body awakens with a need for a drink. Careful not to wake the naked body next to me, I slowly slip out of her grip and out to the kitchen, stepping on the clothing trail on my way out. Her phone is still playing soft melodies. I turn it off and turn towards her liquor cabinet. I fill a glass with ice and pour my whisky, yes, my whisky, into it. My body is still singing from a coital high. Shakily I bring the glass to lips, breathing in that potent scent. I take a cool sip. My body isn’t sure whether it should be cold, due to my nudity, or warm, due to the alcohol burning my throat. Either way it is not content. My hands tremble as the images of my night flood through me. Hearing her sobs, seeing her self-harm again, unable to sooth her in her distress. Holding her in my arms, refusing to let go no matter how much she screamed to let her die.
The glass shatters in my hand as my grip tightens. My hand burns with alcohol in my wound. Frustrated, my arm swings to knock the bottle off the counter to send more glass onto the floor.
I hear footsteps behind me. I whip around and there she is, the glowing Angel, wearing nothing but a silk pink nightgown. Her eyes lock with mine. My feet quickly pad across the glass ridden floor, ignoring the shards embedding themselves in my soles. I collapse at her bare legs and feet, dropping to my knees. I am sobbing as I rest my head on her pelvis. “I don’t-’’ my voice quivers. “What else can I do?” I cry into her. The silence is broken.
She sighs and runs her delicate fingers through my overgrown auburn locks. I hum into her silk covered stomach. She grabs my hand and pulls me up from the floor and pulls me. “Come to bed.” She whispers to me, her eyes red and tired.
And so that is what I do.
