I wake up at 4am, my hair a burning ribbon across my throat, sweat glistening on my body in a the milky predawn. His body is fire pressed against mine. I can hear her snoring peacefully on the far side.

I slide out of bed, trying not to move too much, and slip into the ensuite.

Toilet. Sink, to rinse out my mouth. I don't turn the light on.

When I return, I settle down on the floor, on the discarded quilt. The cool air from the open window is a balm.

"Come back to bed." His rumble comes out of the dark. I didn't realize he had woken.

A hand swings sleepily over the edge of the bed, fingers feeling blindly. He is so close, so I arch my back, and his knuckles graze, and grip, my nipple.

"Come back to bed."

"Too hot," I breathe. "Can't sleep."

The bed creaks. He rises, a shaggy-topped streak of black.

He drags my pilfered sheet off me, and kneels by my feet, like a man at church. He murmurs prayers between my legs until I take the Lord's name in vain.

~

His friends walk ahead, chatting between them. Sunburnt cheeks, weaving a little from the free cocktails, little backpacks stuffed with signed celebrity photos.

My bones hurt. I can feel the lactic acid in my muscles, and it feels like fire. It feels like my body begging me to stop. It feels like thirteen kilometres on bad hips and a calf that has been contracted for the last six hours.

I feel his knuckles against the back of my hand, and it's just a breath to slip my fingers into his.

I know on his other side, his other hand is holding hers.

I try not to think about it.

~

What do you want out of life?

I pause, looking at the little black text.

Deep question, I reply. To made interesting things with good people. To work on interesting projects. To find someone I can spend a lot of time naked with. To leave people in better shape than I find them.

Will I leave them in better shape than I find them?

What do you want?

To be interesting. To make films and never retire. To die with a project half finished. To have a successful thruple. To break the barriers of cultural monogamy.

My heart hiccups.

I can feel sadness curl around my heart, like tendrils of molasses. It grips, it smothers. It thickens my throat with the taste of copper.

And I know I have to break up with them.

You are the most interesting person I have met in a long time, he texts, a while later.

I could echo the words, I could scream them into the warm, wet night air, but I don't.

I plug my phone in and leave it face down.

I lay awake, hands folded on my stomach, and stare into the darkness until my eyes burn dry.

.

Rosie.

Before&After