He had arrived home at a sensible time, and let himself rot into the sofa while cars occasionally illuminated the lines in his face. He let himself fold into the silence, slowly turning his head to find movement in the darkness. The night was deep and still, and his eyelids slowly sank into his head, drunk and swollen with an empty pride. He became aware of each and every one of his furry teeth, running his tongue across them blindly before settling near his molars. Above him, a floorboard moaned.

The feeling of not being alone sobered him suddenly. He had heard her walking in, and raised his eyes to meet her. She wasn’t graceful, her movements were childish and sudden, and her bare shoulders caught and dropped the light from the street like it was she who was drunk, not him. It wasn’t until a bus passed by that he noticed that she was half naked. He wanted to check the time, to see if this was acceptable, but it required giving his position away. He didn’t want to look at her like this; he didn’t want to see the side of her reserved for someone else. He didn’t want this from her, but he had it now and had to be careful with what he did with it. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes and stopped describing the scene to himself, creating another instead where she discovered him and he felt the satisfaction of shame. But she remained ignorant, and passed by him noisily, up the staircase and away from him. 

- From Quiet, Skeleton.

4 Notes/ Hide

  1. nataliekane posted this