lafayetteproulx

This is a work in progress, and there's a new draft on the way (A good draft, unlike this one) but it's a story that for certain reasons is near and dear to my heart. So here it is, my work in progress.

Walking With Your Eyes Closed

Monica, I wake up with my head on her chest, feeling every gentle rise and fall of her ribs, hearing the thump thump of her heart echoing in my head. I kiss her bare skin and taste fabric, I squeeze her tight and she's full of feathers.
I'm covered in a thick layer of sweat and there is an awful taste in my mouth, I'm naked and spooning a pillow. The stench of vomit is heavy on my breath and I'm embarrassed I had the dream even though there is no one around to see it. The room is not my own but my dead fianc's. I think hard but can't remember how I got here. A quick look out the window tells me that I brought myself here and since my car is parked halfway on the lawn it's a miracle I made it at all.
The neon glow of the alarm clock tells me it's noon but I have no idea what day it is. I'm not even sure if it matters.
I force myself out of bed and walk naked to the bathroom. The shower is hot and steaming but my body still shakes. This feels more like detox than a hangover.
Out of the shower I take a long look in the mirror. After I shave and brush my teeth I look more normal and a little after I take two aspirin with a water chaser. My hands stop shaking. A fresh pile of clothes sits on the dresser with a handwritten note on top.
Monica had these around, you must have left them here. I washed them for you and there's some food in the fridge. Make yourself at home. I'll get off work early to come check on you. ~ Melissa.
Melissa and Monica were roommates. Two years ago Melissa sat me down and told me that I was not a suitable person to grow with. Her way of telling me she was screwing someone else. Not long after he hit her so hard that she swallowed a tooth.
We met again months later when she invited me to a dinner party out of pity. She introduced me to her new guy, Jason. A sub-par photographer who does more weddings and birthday parties than actual art.
Then she introduced me to her new roommate, Monica. We hit it off and things went on from there.
At some point in the conversation Jason started smothering Monica, going on about how she needs to model for him, spewing crap like, "In the right setting I can bring out your true beauty." She bought into it and I thought he was harmless.
Melissa linker her arm with mine and said we had a lot of catching up to do. We started walking down hallways and corridors and she starts talking about architecture classes that she's taking and I'm only half paying attention because I'm walking a step behind admiring the way that her dress forms to her slender frame, accentuating every curve as she walks. I start to think that this is the kind of beauty that Jason could never appreciate and while he's chasing around girls like Monica he's got true beauty right next to him and he'll just never know.
She starts talking about architectural blind spots. How no one uses one hundred percent of their homes leaving unused rooms and corners where if people are quiet enough and careful enough they could never get caught.
I'm holding a glass of wine that I don't want, I offer it to her and she says, "You'll need more than a glass of wine. I'm not that kind of girl."
I set the glass on the first flat surface we pass. We round a corner and she stops, blind spot. Her face reads mischief. She takes a step toward me and instinct makes me step back but the wall stops me first. She presses her body against me, takes my hand and slides it up the back of her dress, stopping at the perfect fold of skin where her ass turns into leg. Her kiss is hard and catches me off guard. I squeeze her and return the kiss, I swear I smell vanilla coming off her body, her quick breaths. She bites my lip, hard, she never used to be like this and I wonder where this Melissa has been all my life. I whisper that I want her when distant footsteps come from down the hall. Melissa pulls back, adjusts her dress and now she shows guilt and I want to hit Jason. Melissa walks off, a private moment never to be spoken of again.
In my new, clean clothes the hangover starts to sink into the back of my head. The calendar tells me that today is a Saturday and Melissa or Jason could be coming home at any time.
I find my keys and fix my car, I owe her that much.
The cabinets are devoid of alcohol except for the trash can, filled with empty bottles. Another handwritten note waits for me on the fridge.
I just want to take care of you.
I fold it with care and put it in my pocket. Jason doesn't need to see this.
A glass of orange juice does just fine and I start to wander, letting curiosity guide me. I haven't been here in four months and a lot has changed.
Open a closet and there are dozens of photo albums. Jason's handiwork. I think I might find a few of Monica so I make a space for myself and start looking. Most of them are of weddings he does, the copies he keeps. I find a few of Monica, all smiles, and I keep them for myself.
An hour goes by and I found a small stack of pictures worth stealing. Now all that's left is an old chest with a lock on it. Curiosity catches up with me again and I want to know what Jason has to hide. The chest is so old that after a few kicks the lock snaps and the top pops open. Inside are loose pictures of girls bordering on the pornographic.
I wonder how many he's slept with. How many of them he used those stupid lines on so they'd feel pretty when they spread their legs while he stared through his lens.
My heart stops cold and retreats into the dark recesses of my soul when I find a picture of Monica. Monica stripping, and posing. Monica showing everything to a scumbag with a camera, feeding her talk about how her real beauty is when she's on all fours. Her real beauty is when her face says angel but her body says whore.
It's an uncommon ninety five degrees outside but I start a fire in the fireplace anyway. No logs in the fire, just photo albums and thick handfuls of whatever I grab from the chest.
A car pulls in the driveway. I want him to see this. I don't get to see his face when he takes that first full breath of burning plastic. I don't get to see when he walks into the living room and sees me sitting cross legged, tossing in picture after picture.
He understands though, he doesn't put up a fight.
"I still have the negatives, go ahead." He says. He starts opening windows to let out the smell.
"A bit drastic though, don't you think?"
"Did you sleep with her?" All the pictures are gone now and when I stand up the odor overpowes.
"Sleep, no. Fuck, yes. She sleeps like a dog, won't stop kicking."
"She sleeps like an angel if you treat her like one."
"What will Melissa think, she's such a fragile little girl."
"She's been hurt by worse by better. She'll manage just fine."
The fucker is smiling but not all of my hate goes to him. Monica gets her share and for a faint flicker of a second I'm glad she's dead but I take it back just as quick.
Jason gathers some things and asks me to tell Melissa that he'll be back for the rest. Knowing her it will be waiting for him with the rest of the trash pick up.
He leaves and by time Melissa gets home the house smells fresh again. She walks in and sees the mess in the fireplace. She doesn't say a word but I know she wants to know what's going on.
I hand her a picture of Monica, nude. Sitting on their couch with her legs crossed tastefully and a smile that says devil. I point out that according to the date on the picture it's been going on since at least a month before Monica choked to death because her seatbelt strangled her.
Melissa tears the picture in two, looks me hard in the eyes and tells me I'm sorry, catching me off guard. She tells me about how she knew Monica was fucking around on me and she couldn't find a way to tell me.
"I've always tried to take care of you and I didn't want to be the one to break your heart again." In a voice that says she feels like she failed.
She says that when Monica died I went through enough and when four months later after my self imposed exile when I drive halfway onto her driveway she couldn't do anything but take care of me.
I tell her that this is my tooth that got knocked out, but I'll be fine.
Monica would never say that she wanted to take care of me. As long as I was taking care of her it didn't matter what happened to me. Then she died and I was foolish enough to believe that my entire life was over at twenty-five.
Melissa offers me a drink and I decline. She does too. She doesn't want to be drinking in front of me. I don't know why she's so sweet to me but now is no time to ask. I follow her into the kitchen where I'm guided completely by impulse.
She's facing away and I wrap my arms around her. She's small, her head rests against my chest. I feel guilty for Monica but realize that she was screwing around and I'm free to start my life over whenever I like.
Monica, if you're watching, turn away, turn away for good.
Melissa turns toward me and kisses me hard. She can be gentle when she needs to be but now isn't the time. The Melissa I knew two years ago was tame but this one is fierce. The old one told me that a future together was not possible, but I can't figure this one out and I'm intrigued to learn more.
This is two years of tension coming out with a fury.
Violent pulls to take off clothing, deep breaths for air and a tug of war of pulls and shoves. Each kiss is hard and every once in a while someone will get bite marks on their skin. When I take myself into her the sexual doldrum that I had been used to is quickly put into a forgotten place in my mind. Hold a thought, a memory for long enough and after long enough letting go of it can be explosive.
We take our time but we never slow down, two years of imagining what could have been that night gives way to two imaginations running wild. Her body has grace and when it moves you pay close attention. I'll pull her close she'll push me away, the tug of war continues until our imaginations extinguish and we've got nothing left to say.
This is where my life begins at twenty-five.