“…So,” she finished and sat down her empty coffee mug.
And he sighed, “Yeah…” and cupped the back of his head, pressing his fingers to the base of his skull, trying to stem the strange sensation—part magma, part glacier water—that had settled in the pit of his stomach and was winding its way up to his temples.
She’d shifted away from him on the couch, putting her back to the arm, watching him and…did she expect him to say something else? “Well…” his tongue had grown fat and clumsy in the cradle of his jaw and his brain was full of black noise, smothering the words he wanted to say; the words that maybe he should say?
But she shook her head and stood, the same no nonsense look on her face that she had the night she’d given him the run down of exactly what she liked and how she liked it, before taking a condom—too old, he should have bought new ones—from the pack lying on his bedside table, pressing it into his hand, and bearing him down to the bed with a kiss. “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow at the clinic,” she picked up her purse, “and you don’t need to do anything, but I told you I’d tell you if anything happened and I keep my word; I’ll see you,” she finished, and he watched her turn hard on her heel and walk out the door.
First posted on the Six Sentences Social Network