I can see him from my dank corner. His words are greasy like his hair.
Sniffing the air reveals the faint aroma of onions. His talk stinks and makes my eyes burn.
In pieces he's much slimier than I imagined. I don't need to make the broth I bought earlier.
a wolf at the doorBomb.
My ears perk up. Some woman with a webbed tongue has piqued their interest.
Her sticky turns of phrase make the man across from her squirm and flap like a fly. He sees her through shards so he can focus elsewhere – more interested in breaking into the lobster meat on his plate.
Bomb shelter & Bomb squad.
Flyboy orders dessert and speeds off to the bathroom. I use this break in the program to preview my own. I reach the table as I hear the sink turn on.
"You get off in an hour."
She lets loose a snarling laugh, meant to remind me of my place and shock my neckhairs. I like this one.
"Not if you do."
I point to the men's room.
"He pay you for the whole night or something?"
Her fingers sting my cheek. The game is on.
I settle down the manager so I can avoid interruptions. She orders ice cream. I bring her strawberries. I watch her from behind his head as he feeds her one. Wrong.
Flyboy's buzzing and waves like we're old friends. She looks me up and down as he counts out his bills. I lick my lips until he jabs me in the chest with the check. Wrong.
I bring back his change with sweaty hands. His wallet comes out and I spill my guts. Then his fist c0cks back and he's ready to fight—until her lips touch mine. She loves to run the show. His shock is directly proportionate to my arousal. Right.
the honeymoon is overChomp.
I kiss the bite marks on her neck as she reclines.
I pat her stomach.
"Too bad you didn't pass on those strawberries."
I shower, dress and exit while she slumbers. Before I close the door behind me, I slip the spare key I expected out from under the welcome mat.
the waltzMoving the brass key between my fingers I smile to myself. The daisies do little to distract me—her scent approaches. She ignores my bench and drinks from a fountain. I can hear her swallow.
Oh hey! I didn't see you this morning.
(1) Well I was gone before you woke up. I had things to do.
I watch her bite her tongue into submission. The desperation spurs me on.
(2) But I'm coming over later to make up for it.
Great! I'll make dinner.
(3) I bet your cooking is fantastic.
She giggles and we exchange schedules and goodbyes.
"You know, to be honest… not that I think you'd do this… I was just worried you wouldn't… I was afraid you wouldn't come."
(1) "Is that all you're afraid of?"
"Well, no. But that's hardly dinner conversation."
(2) "I've always been afraid of fire. And loud noises."
She laughs. "Wow, really?"
"Goddamnit, yes really! Why else would I say it!" A slip. This could cost me.
"God, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be sensitive about it. It's okay. Me, I'm claustrophobic. And I guess I really hate the dark. Not being able to see things, y'know? I don't really think about it, but I always turn a light on right when I get home at night."
Almost too easy.
(3) Oh dear. We can leave the lights on, then.
And we did.
no no no no no no no noWho's afraid of the big bad wolf, baby?
When key turns, so do I. Lilacs and Lever 2000. An oven and dirty dishes. Her excitement.
My, what ears.
She turns and sighs. Her breath goes ragged when I enter the room.
"I own a gun!"
The fear draws me. Webs worked on Flyboy—I have no wings.
"Just… take what you want, just don't h… hurt me."
"Hurt? Why, what did you think I was here for dear?"
My, what eyes.
Her body begins to tremble. My snarl makes it worse. I watch her neckhairs stand on end.
A tear trickles down her face, drips onto her hand.
It tastes like red wine.
My, what teeth.
Breasts and ears, chewy thighs and crunchy spine.
I tower over what's left, even on my knees—smother it.
Darkness hides the messy bits.