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By lupschada Date: 2002 Jul 23 Comment on this Work [[2002.07.23.19.06.23671]] |
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I try not to feel the hand at the small of my back and I bury my face as deep into the pillow as will make me dizzy. There is a throbbing of red over my eyes from the pressure, and I imagine the glow of a broken neon sign out the window. My mouth tastes worse than morning. Something kicks in and I remember that I need to breathe. I shift as inconspicuously as I can, turning my face to the clock, where the digits blink in perfect, luminous rhythm with my imaginary neon. The clock reads three-fifteen AM. "My parents are going to wonder where I am," I whisper in a voice that sounds like it's never been used. My face is still turned, and I feel the hand on my back make a fist and pull away. The bed bounces sharply, twice, and I know he has pulled himself up on one elbow, to look at me. "They trust me," he says. And laughs. He doesn't care if he's right or not. "I need to get home." The bed doesn't move again. He's still looking at me; I can feel his eyes move down the length of my body and I am acutely aware of how the sheet covers only the lower half of one leg. The sheet brushes the crease at the top of my thigh as he finally swings his legs around to the side of the bed, and he stands. He walks over and hands me underwear, puts his palm to my cheek softly, says,"Brush your teeth." An hour later, I spit, lay a thick line of toothpaste on the brush, and ram it into my mouth for the fifth time. I pray that the smell of the beer I'd spilled on my shirt didn't draw the sleepy attention of my mother when I hung my head over her bed to whisper, "I'm home, goodnight." |