Page 10 of What It's Like in Words
I bet your favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla.
Stop!
I pressed my hand over his grin. Fine. I’ll bite. How bigisyour bed? He pressed his lower body into mine. That pulse between my legs. That spice in my blood.Kiss me.Fuck it. I lifted onto my toes and kissed him.
You’ll just have to wait and see.
CHAPTER 3
I screw the lid back on the peanut butter and return the jar to the lineup. It’s barely four-thirty but completely dark. I turn on the side lights until the room marinates. When I first moved in, Ruth and I passed a bottle of prosecco back and forth because I didn’t have glasses. I didn’t have a bed either, and so that night we slept in sleeping bags like we were camping. Everything here is mine. The beaded cushions on the sofa. The vase on the table. The color-coded books in the bookshelf. I chose them. I paid for them. I placed them. This was my space. Myhome. But then he made fun of my cushions, he bought me flowers for that vase, he teased me about the books in the bookshelf. Now everything mine has become his, and I’m not sure when or how that happened. Amy’s house is full of photographs of her and David, but I don’t have any photographs of us, so our memories are in the items. I thought that made the relationship more intimate, but Ruth said it was because he never viewed it as a real relationship. And yet, if the police dusted, they would find his prints everywhere.
I open the balcony doors and feel the sting of cold. The sky is streaked like a watercolor, and the buildings have darkened to the same shade of gray. I can see the photographs we never took as clearly as I can see him standing on the platform edge last night.
I close my eyes and breathe in what feels like fresh air but I know isn’t.
WE WERE STOOD OUTSIDEhis front door for the first time. He kissed me, and his hands pushed inside my coat. I told him to stop. Your neighbors might see! He told me to fucking come in.
We had gone for a drink in London Bridge, and the plan was tapas in Borough Market, but we never made it. It was date three. I had an overnight bag. He offered us gum.
Inside, the lights were on and I could smell food. He put his finger on his lips and indicated the kitchen. I won’t introduce you to my housemate because he’s a twat. I asked if there was anyone who he didn’t think was a twat and he smiled at me.
We took off our shoes, leaving them in the pile by the door, and he showed me into his room. It looked more like the room of a student than of a thirty-five-year-old man. Popcorn ceiling. Exposed bulb over the bed. Wardrobe doors ajar; trainers, sleeve, corner of a laundry basket. A bookshelf with a dead spider plant, crispy babies hanging from the tips. Washing over a radiator: comic book socks, stripy boxer shorts, single black glove. Chair pulled from a desk like he had just stood up from it. Atop, a spread-eagled crossword, laptop, andFamily Guymug.
I asked if the bed was a double. He said that it was one of those small doubles that landlords loved.
So, that was the lie?
I don’t have champagne either. This isn’t the Ritz.
He put on a song with no words and turned the main light off. I removed my coat and jumper so I was just wearing a black dress with buttons up the front. I wasn’t wearing tights, and my legs were covered in goose bumps.
Hey, he said, with a childish lilt.
He ran his hand up the side of my body. He didn’t kiss me, but I could feel his breath. He lowered his hand to my leg.
You must be freezing, Gay.
His fingers grazed the lace of my knickers, and he made a noise to let me know that he approved. I unbuttoned my dress. He reached to unhook my bra but couldn’t work the clasp. I reassured him thateveryone struggled, and he joked: You’ve had other men? I pulled up his T-shirt. Dark hair on defined muscles. Heady smell of aftershave. The whole scene was soundtracked by drums that matched my heartbeat, or maybe my heartbeat was directing the tinny blue speaker but—
ANDI’VE DONE ITagain. Like the gray T-shirt. This isn’t what happened. I wasn’t wearing a dress, because I struggled to get my jeans off and he commented that there was a reason skinny jeans were out of fashion. And then when he touched me, he said:I’m relieved you have a nice one of these, it could have been a dog’s dinner.I had felt insecure and asked if we should wait, but he said it was just a joke. It was like the first time I had sex. I hadn’t wanted it, but I told everyone that it was passionate and spontaneous and that this boy whose name I didn’t remember was the right person for me to open my legs against a garage door for. But it doesn’t matter whether I remember only the good or only the bad or if I get as close to objectivity as it is possible to get, because the truth is: I wanted him.
Really think about it, Laa, about how he makes you feel.
SHALL WE WAIT?
Enola, it was just a joke…
I know. Sorry. Forget it.
He shuffled out of his boxers and threw his socks to opposite corners of the room. His cock was bobbing. I had guessed he would be large. Ruth told me to look at the index. I told her that was an old wives’ tale. She said that expression was sexist. He kissed me with an aggressive tongue, and I responded with my nails on his back like I was a woman in a film who sleeps with a man and then murders him. When he pushed inside, it hurt, and I pressed my face into the pillow where the smell of his sleep lingered. Was he enjoying this? Was I? His joints moved. His muscles flexed. I thought of those images of the human body from biology class, red stripy muscles stretching under the skin. I wanted him to overpower me. To takewhat he wanted. I wanted to be useful. He moved more fervently. Everything became hot and wet. I grabbed his hips, pulling him harder, faster, deeper in until he came and I pretended to.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He withdrew and collapsed, ribs jerking. Then he reached for his vape, holding his breath before releasing.
Wow, he said. We came at the same time.
