Low Expectations

She lies on her back and stares at the ceiling. Her black and white checkered blanket covers her naked body. She doesn’t want to wake up, to another empty day, to another day of feeling trapped in a world of illusions. Her hair is a mess and oily. She forgot to take a shower last night. The morning air is a little cool and she cuddles under the blanket. Moving into a fetal position, she glances at the clock. It’s 5 a.m. and not yet time for work. The curls that she had artistically arranged in her hair have become undone and the hairspray she had generously applied was not as strong as she wanted. I need to buy new hairspray. Her eyelids heavy, she remembers she also didn’t wash off her makeup. I drank too much. I feel soiled.

She remembers how rough he had been with her. I’m just his plaything. She doesn’t know how to break the cycle. She remembers now, how he had laughed. How he had taken. How she felt empty and wanted something from him. Anything. But as she lay on top of him, his heart pounding against her cheek. His hand caressing her thigh. God, you were good. He exhales. Honey, you were good. You know how to make a man want to spill his seed in you. If only she was like you. He heaves a heavy sigh. He strokes her hair. She never tells me what she wants. She just lays there as though it’s her duty. But you...babe, that was good.

He talks about his wife and how frigid she is in bed. I mean, I can’t even do it with her, I feel like I’m forcing her. All men who cheat on their wives, especially with younger women, tell her these lies. The lies pour easily from the mouths that love to give her pleasure, as she lets them kiss their way down her stomach to the sweet treasure that beckons to be filled. She hears the lies and knowingly accepts them as truth.

She pretends to be naughty. She pretends to be coquette. She pretends to know about amours such as these. She tells him she doesn’t like to cuddle afterwards. She tells him about her rules. She tells him and he accepts. She doesn’t know why she lies. She doesn’t know why. She lies and it hurts when they leave. She lies and she wonders if she was too easy. She wonders why she chose to go down this path, the path that doesn’t return. That doesn’t give back. That cannot fulfill her need.

Did I do something wrong? She texts him. No hon, he writes back. I’ve just been busy. Family’s coming to town, my to-do list is growing. He lies and she accepts it. I’m the other woman. What did I expect? She leans her forehead into her pillow and finally decides to get up. Tomorrow she’s meeting the nice gentleman her friend wants her to date. He’s not exactly the best looking guy ever, her friend teased, but I think he’ll be good for you. At least give him a chance. Keep your heart open to the possibility of you and him. He’s a good guy, her friend advises.

She stands in the warmth of the water, letting her lies go down the drain. What’s wrong with me? Why do I go for the unavailable men? Why can’t I be normal and be with someone who wants to be with me? Who can’t get enough of me? Who I can go out with in public and tell everyone he’s with me?