A Night in a Year: 28. Departure

She collects both when they are done, finds a nearby bin. She turns, to find that Dave is by her side, two fingers lifting a stray length of hair from her cheek, and she wonders, looking at his almost sincere expression, if she’ll have trouble shaking him.

When he speaks, mercifully, it isn’t edged with desperation. “You want to come back to mine?”
Her face must answer him as soon as he says the words, because he’s almost instantly nodding, understanding.

“No worries. It was fun.”

‘Fun’ always seemed such a reductive term for ‘fucked until we saw stars,’ but she doesn’t say anything like that. Just agrees, and hugs him in return.

He kisses her again. Now he tastes of warm potatoes, a lash of brown sauce.

“You going home?”

She looks up at the clock on the Guildhall. Still so early. It feels like a century since she left home. She shakes her head.

“Got the rest of the night ahead of me.”

“Bet you do…”

Dave winks, and as he goes back down the passage, back towards the bar they were in, he gives her a wave. She holds her hand up, but his back is turned already before he can possibly see it.

She goes back to the bench, alone but full of sex and chips. The food, and Dave near her, distracted her, but as she sits in the evening air, she lets her mind turn over the moments in the alley. Sex always happens so fast. Even slowly, the times when hours loll by, the easy rolling of body against body, individual events blur into each other, that remembering them is near impossible. Now she tries to recall each bite, grasp, thrust, all the moments of friction.

Futile, but it cements the memory.

-
Next: 29. Seeking

Image found on flickr, by Phil Wiffen, used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.