The Sin
She feels empty. She steps into the shower, hoping to wash away her sins. I should have gone to church today she berates herself. The lukewarm water isn't hot enough and she meticulously turns the hot water knob. It's slightly scalding - not enough to hurt, but enough, she hopes, to wash the soil off her body. She lets the water fall over her bent head. Her hair, scraggly and smelling of his cologne. She closes her eyes and prays that her soul be absolved.
She met him in the coffee shop. Sitting with her laptop open. Pretending to be busy, she saw him walk in. He smiled at her and joined her. Tea? He offered, but she declined. He made her laugh, though his jokes were often corny. She saw the ring on his finger, but pretended it was only decorative.
Let's go for a ride, he offered. I know the cutest bed and breakfast in town. She briefly hesitated before saying yes. He picked her up at the bookstore where they first met. He talks a lot. But I don't mind, she muses. Her wind-blown hair hiding her from the reality of the moment. She lets him hold onto her left hand as they drive the 27 miles to the century-old hideout.
The kissing and interweaving of their bodies left her breathless. Only in the moment she realized what she had done, did it leave her empty and ashamed. He hands her the pink panties that had been hurriedly thrown on the floor. Bending down to pick up her skirt, she realizes he's already dressed and ready to leave.
I'll drive to the front and pick you up, he briskly says. And she takes her time getting dressed. She can't bring herself to look in the mirror. But her eyes strays and she sees her mussed up hair and the faint marks on her neck. She weaves her fingers through her hair, trying to bring order to the messy waves. She takes out her lipstick, and applies a fresh layer on her drying lips. She hears the car and heads down the stairs.
They drive in silence when she tells him to get a vasectomy. You gave me a near heart attack, he laughs. I'm on the pill, but there's a 1 percent chance. She mutters. His fingers brushes her cheek as she turns to leave the car. It was good he says. She nods and smiles. He has no idea she is silently crying inside.
It hurts, she tells herself. Sitting on her bed, towel wrapped around her hair, enveloped by the cream colored bathrobe with the frayed edges.
She met him in the coffee shop. Sitting with her laptop open. Pretending to be busy, she saw him walk in. He smiled at her and joined her. Tea? He offered, but she declined. He made her laugh, though his jokes were often corny. She saw the ring on his finger, but pretended it was only decorative.
Let's go for a ride, he offered. I know the cutest bed and breakfast in town. She briefly hesitated before saying yes. He picked her up at the bookstore where they first met. He talks a lot. But I don't mind, she muses. Her wind-blown hair hiding her from the reality of the moment. She lets him hold onto her left hand as they drive the 27 miles to the century-old hideout.
The kissing and interweaving of their bodies left her breathless. Only in the moment she realized what she had done, did it leave her empty and ashamed. He hands her the pink panties that had been hurriedly thrown on the floor. Bending down to pick up her skirt, she realizes he's already dressed and ready to leave.
I'll drive to the front and pick you up, he briskly says. And she takes her time getting dressed. She can't bring herself to look in the mirror. But her eyes strays and she sees her mussed up hair and the faint marks on her neck. She weaves her fingers through her hair, trying to bring order to the messy waves. She takes out her lipstick, and applies a fresh layer on her drying lips. She hears the car and heads down the stairs.
They drive in silence when she tells him to get a vasectomy. You gave me a near heart attack, he laughs. I'm on the pill, but there's a 1 percent chance. She mutters. His fingers brushes her cheek as she turns to leave the car. It was good he says. She nods and smiles. He has no idea she is silently crying inside.
It hurts, she tells herself. Sitting on her bed, towel wrapped around her hair, enveloped by the cream colored bathrobe with the frayed edges.
posted by Lishtar at
10:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home