Friday, November 05, 2010

I used to write, part 3

I'm quite proud of this one.

She rolled onto her back and squinted. The sun tried desperately to peek around the heavy red curtains that he insisted in hanging. Now, she was grateful for the lack of bright early morning light. A dimness had settled into the room. On her side of the bed, there was an old scratched up night table adorned with a lamp and several books. There was a dresser, a tall one with five drawers sitting one on top of another. There was a vanity, a long glass table covered in glass bottles, brushes and jars, a chair that didn't match strewn with clothes from the day before, and a mirror above it all. An old wooden table that she had taken from her dorm when she graduated held a stereo that played radio, CDs and cassette tapes. Recently listened to CDs lay around it exposing tastes; Eric Satie, the CD currently in the player. A record player that needed a new needle sat on the table. A Cat Stevens album lay on top of it. Records, tapes and CDs were meticulously stored under the table in alphabetical order. The three doors led to a walk in closet, the bathroom, and the rest of the house. The walls and carpet were different shades of cream.

She sat up and the down comforter slid off her body, exposing her tits to the room. She reached inside the night table drawer and fished out the cigarettes and lighter. As she lit the cigarette and took a long, deep drag, she heard a muffled moan and early morning sigh coming from the body lying next to her.

"Umpfffff...," said the body, inching over until his ever-present stubble scratched against her pale and naked legs. He was smiling, just barely awake. He kissed her thigh. She bumped her hand against his shoulder. He groaned and rolled over, pushing himself up into a semi-sitting, mostly slouching position. He took the cigarette from her and she leaned over to the night table and dug the empty ashtray out of the drawer. She held it up and he tapped the cigarette on its rim. One hand absentmindedly played the hem of her panties. He held the cigarette out for her and she took it back. She threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed a discarded tank top off the floor, shimmying into it as her lover looked on in disappointment.

She took a drag and sighed.

"Coffee," she said. A statement, not a question. She took a drag and tugged on her tank top. He looked at her with sleepy morning eyes. She shifted her weight. She walked over to the CD player and turned it on. Je Te Veux spilled into the air.

"Fais de moi ta maƮtresse
Loin de nous la sagesse
Plus de tristesse"

She threw a glance at her lover and took a drag. She walked over to the bed, placed the cigarette in the ashtray and left the room.

February, 2009

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