Haven't heard
April 02, 2017 - 10:31 p.m.

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I jiggle my key until it catches, and open the door. The cats greet me, the fat one meowing furiously for a treat.

I greet them with nonsense baby noises, strip off my sweater and hoodie, purse. I dump them all on the chair, having an imaginary conversation with the fat one, while she meows insistantly at me, as if I was stupid.

I hear my roommates upstairs, in the bathroom, or their bedroom, I can't tell. They haven't heard me come in.

~

I have to go to the island for the weekend. I'm shooting a ghost hunters show.

I look at the text from the tall man. What should I reply? Okay? Lol? I don't know.

If you murder a ghost hunter, I write, and the ghost hunter turns into a ghost, will it still hunt ghosts?

A long pause.

Okay, new plan--

~

I look at my upcoming days off. I think about G, over the border, in his little house.

I try to think up excuses to go visit. Or to not visit.

I try not to think about him naked, soft dark skin in the slanting light through the window. Lean torso, shoulders curled, making tea at the stove. Feet slapping on the laminate. Insistent hands, fingers digging into muscles.

Stop it.

I open my email. An email from him.

How does he always know when I'm thinking about him?

I broke my phone. I lost your number. What is it?

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

Of course I give it to him.

Of course.

~

I wear my green cocktail dress with the gold embroidery on the shoulders and the titty-window. And a pearl necklace. Real pearls, of course.

The evening is a whirlwind of cocktails and tall tales. He's expressive, telling wild stories in a rolling baritone. I don't have to fake my laughter.

She giggles, clings to her wrap dress as if she's wearing no underwear (and I suspect she isn't). Her legs, plump and attractively rounded, are exaggerated by the fishnets she wears. She wears them awkwardly, as if she's never even thought of buying a pair before this night, but also recklessly confidently, like a swimmer pushing blindly into the deep end.

The dark interior of a cab. A fast, rocking ride through the cool dark city streets.

A hand inching up my bare knee.

~

My phone rings. I don't keep his number saved in my phone, because it's too much temptation to call.

But I know it. I know it when I see it pop up on my call display.

"I was just thinking about you," he says, "when you texted me."

I couldn't help myself.

"Yeah," I tell him, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I thought I'd come down, stay in a hostel in the city on thursday and friday, then come stay at your place on saturday night."

"That sounds good," he says, sounding genuinely pleased. There's no talk of him making up the spare bed, and I don't bring it up.

~

He reclines in front of the couch in his shirt sleeves, rolling a wine glass in his hand. She sits in the corner of the couch, legs tucked up against her chest.

Their apartment is a disaster. It actually makes me feel better about my own.

She is telling me a story about something I can barely focus on. He has my foot in his hand.

His fingers crawl up my leg, catch the edge of my knee-high sock, and slides it down. His hot breath follows the hem.

"I'm sorry," I say to her. "I'm finding it difficult to focus. He's very distracting."

"Yes," she says, "he's like that."

Her breath is soft with wine, and so is her mouth.

I find out she is, indeed, wearing underwear.

~

"It's been a long time since I've been laid," I say, not quite lying.

"Yeah?" he says, somewhat incredulously. "How long?"

I do some quick mental math. "Almost three years," I say. Once upon a time I would have been horrified by that number, but now it's just a thing. A thing that is.

"Well," he says, unashamed, "I can help you with that."

I don't tell him about them. I don't tell them about him.

My dreams are haunted by golden brown landscapes and soft dark eyes.

~

"Did I miss any spots, honey?"

I round the corner of the livingroom, look up into the bathroom.

The shiny curve of his forehead, the red swell of his stomach, and below that, his genitals, hanging heavy and wrinkled like an overripe plum.

Neither of my roommates have seen me yet, and I back away quickly.

I quietly tiptoe down to the kitchen, feeling filthy, like I've just seen my father's penis.

I make sure to make a lot of noise when I come up the stairs a second time.

.

Rosie

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