SHORT STORIES: Overnights

Overnights Short Stories

Awake

He wakes as suddenly as he fell asleep. Her head is resting on his arm, her lips and nose gently touching his chest. He thinks he is the luckiest man alive. She breaths quietly and he holds her hand, wraps her around him. For a while he lays there, all quiet and peace, until he moves her gently and gets up.

He walks to the bathroom and splashes his face, feels the new stubble, thinks it is newer than her. The mirror swims for focus and he knows his glasses are somewhere in the bed, lost in the moment the night before. He brushes and spits trace blood.

He returns to the room and flicks the mini kettle into life, low groan making her roll over. Her legs protrude, their tapestry reflecting the sunlight, white as fresh snow, he thinks he wants to get lost in them. He rests one hand on her as soft as he can, feels that she is real again, as vivid as the first time. The room is him and all he needs is her and she is here so his heart pulses.

He walks back to the bathroom, leaves her to rest. His phone on the side, speaker to the wall to amplify, some shuffle of 90s rebellion and 10s arrogance. He drops what little he wears to the floor, locks the door instinctively, turns on the shower and feels his arms fresh hell of burning. The burn reminds him of her so he steps in, let his body scream.

The hot runs down and through him, soon he is tracing on the shower glass, some sketch of her. The crude outline dances from him, soft focus as he thinks of her.

A knock. Quieter until loud. He refocuses, looks through the trace. He steps out and opens the door, she is fresh and smiles, her piercings glint from the light and it makes him blind for an instant, his eyes retraining afresh on her. She holds his hand and kisses his lips. His tongue glides across her as his excitement grows.

47

She splashes her face and feels it seeping into her creases. Drops from her eyelashes. She looks into the mirror and thinks where to start, opening her makeup bag and rifling through. It is all new, bought today. The makeup she’d wanted as a girl, deep purples and electric blues.

She does a line of coke before she starts, is back in the old days and smooth, tight. It is clear now. She picks up the phone as she applies eyeliner, outlining her perception.

Hello? She says. He replies. Twenty minutes. It has been long, so long. Her nails she has let grow, snaps the phone shut. She thinks what she was and thinks she was fun. So long ago and she hopes she remembers the moves. It will hurt but hurt good. She does another line and it is all going to be fine.

Her lips, deep-blue now. Puckered. She turns from the mirror, walks into the room. Cheap smell, budget night, but half the world from where she’d started. She looks out the window and sees the Sydney skyline and thinks it is warm, so warm here.

The knock comes and she does another line to clear her head, shakingly opens. He towers over her, dark skin and black clothes, muscles top to bottom. He says hello and she says he looks like a nice boy. He laughs and comes in.

She says it has been long and he says how long? She says ten years. He says ten years ago he was in college and she says she was a housewife with child. Both gone. She is ashamed and thinks should she cry but she wants this. She says you seem nice do you want some tea and he laughs again, takes his arms and envelops her.

It hurts and she is full. He throws unto her and she screams, tired cords and worn. She moans and says what is your name and he says you call me what you want. She calls him husband long gone and he doesn’t know, keeps going. He laughs and she says why and he points to a tattoo, back of leg, long forgotten.

She thinks of how she was a girl and a mother once and now all she is has been used up and she is a bag and she loves being filled and she still works but she is hollow. Holds his tight body and wants it to fill up what is missing, feels the shiver as he pulls out and impresses upon her again.

He is done and she says do you want tea now and he says she isn’t the oldest he has had. She says oh I see and puts her dress back on and her hair is ruined, makeup running down. He says two hundred and she pays. He leaves and she is in the room and looks at the skyline again and the juice is dripping out of her.

Some of the coverage you find on Cultured Vultures may contain affiliate links, which may provide us with small commissions based on purchases made from visiting our site.

Gamezeen is a Zeen theme demo site. Zeen is a next generation WordPress theme. It’s powerful, beautifully designed and comes with everything you need to engage your visitors and increase conversions.