The sting of pom-poms strung across the underside of my roommate’s loft-bed trembled ever so slightly as I blinked at them, having just rolled over. Was it the wind through the window? Or was it his subtle intake and exhale of breath that caused them to almost vibrate, suspended in the air. Probably his breathing, I thought. The leaves outside the windowpane were still. I was the only one awake. 8:47. That was nearly irritating to see, since I originally woke up about 47 minutes ago at 8 o’clock, but some deep ache for sleep had kept me planted under my covers and lured my eyes closed again. I still felt it. There was something especially seductive to the prospect of sleeping in this morning. Perhaps it was the cold, for I remember I’d hunched my duvet up over my face, just below my eyes, when I woke up the first time. Our apartment has no insulation, so by the time the clock strikes 4 in the morning I’m just about the only one left in the room who isn’t shivering with the shock of it. But I guess it was especially cold today. I rubbed my feet together, savoring the warmth under my sheets, and then finally hoisted myself onto my elbow in a half attempt to break out of bed. No bloodstains on my pillow, I noticed. That’s good. I’d scrubbed my scalp clean the night before, washing it more times than I think I ever have. I’d shaken my head back and forth like whiplash afterwards to dry my hair, snapping the curls straight and leaving me free of tangles for the first time in a while. Maybe that was it. The blood. Something seemed to be anchoring me down to my mattress; perhaps there was some spiritual quality to covering my entire body in the juice of another animal that left it reset somehow—or maybe tainted—heavy under the weight of it. I could still almost smell it everywhere, irony and foul. Like a phantom scent.
3 hours later I sat at the kitchen table, tired again with a full belly like a satiated kitten. I had somberly lifted myself onto my green rug beside my bed to walk to the gym once I’d accepted that this was the kind of tiredness that can’t be slept off. I’d noticed that there was an especially large number of beautiful men around the neighborhood today, in the gym too. Maybe they all come out at 9:30 on Mondays. I usually go to the gym at 7. They didn’t really look at me though. I guess they were straight, or maybe I was just unattractive since I stopped believing in straight men a long time ago.
My breakfast consisted of 2 eggs, 2 sausages and 2 pieces of toast with at least 3 tablespoons of cream cheese on each. I cooked the eggs after the sausages in my cast iron pan, so that they could soak up the fat of the meat. I also ate a bowl of cereal and drank a glass of milk and a cup of tea. I’m was still hungry though. I’m the only one in this apartment who really eats.
Another 9 1/2 hours later I had my arms locked around a boy a little taller than me, with hair a little shorter, my tongue in his mouth and my back against a brick wall. But somewhere between biting his bottom lip and licking his neck, a bitterness crept onto my palate and it stayed there. I suctioned my lips around the skin below his ear and bit it, not gently, but not hard. What is that taste? Is it his neck? I don’t think so. His hands were gentle on my back as he kissed at my collarbone. I rocked my head back and looked up at the sky. We stood at the dead end of a service alley beside the building, surrounded by tall, brick walls on three sides, maybe 20 feet high. The only way out was a steep path of pavement, but the trees waved down from the square hole above us where I could see the clouds marching through the air. The light pollution made it so that they still moved across a backdrop of subtle blue, although it was sometime around 9:30. The clouds moved quickly. There must be wind. I kissed him back hard, I kissed him back gently, but mostly it just felt like lips moving on lips. I wonder if it would feel different if he was someone I craved. And there it was again, I made a realization. I was thinking about the two of them. Again. I guess I’m still doing things for them. Is all of this just so I can prove to them I don’t need their affection? I guessed that even now, it was still important to me. I mean, it must have been if it was capable of taking my mind off the situation at hand. I wonder how it would feel to kiss… him… Would he kiss back like this? I wonder if he’s a good kisser too. I felt embarrassed at the thought, and frustrated at its tone deafness, so I hushed it away, but it was not the last time my mind mentioned it all to me before I went home to bed. The second realization I made was that I was waiting for the boy in my arms to inch down my midriff to the equator of my pant button. The back and forth was already redundant. I could tell there was a question he was waiting to ask me, and he hadn’t yet proven himself to be the shy type. He soon lifted the bottom of my sweater, kissing my stomach till it trembled with the tickle of it, and I stood stricken, but before I could say anything he returned to my face.
My heart was beating so fast I think I nearly fainted. I wasn’t waiting for the moment itself, but for the moment to finally provide an ample possibility for me to mention what I hadn’t yet; if he unbuttoned my pants in search of a hard member underneath, he wouldn’t find it. Having to surprise people with something is so scary. Even though I knew he wouldn’t care, there’s always the potential that you’ll watch as something in their eyes change as they look you down and then up again. For a moment you become a spectacle, something to regard, a kind of show object. In the next moment you become something they don’t want anymore.
I brushed my teeth well when I got home, just to make sure the bitterness would stay gone. One of the bulbs in the sconce had gone out. I’ve thought about the two of them so many times tonight I might as well have just done it it all for them. I guess I kind of did, didn’t I. My stubble was nearing the length of a short beard. I should shave. I kind of liked it though. It was a new adornment, like some kind of jewelry. My mouth foamed white as I continued to scrub my tongue, and my eyes lingered on the wall. There to the right of the dead half of the sconce were about 4 small, round, rust-colored stains. I guess I didn’t get all the blood out.
E. Falter 5/30/25