short: "Magpie" (2 of 4)

[part 1 here]

And that's how it went.  He satiated her, somehow, by simply being present.  He floated around her as she went on, oblivious.  He was a ghost to her living, There is a point where it is easier to remain quiet and allow life to happen otherwise.

She hung on his arm as he floated to the bakery in the morning, the library or the bookstore during the day, and making love at night.

She has to see that I don't exist.  He only caught her eyes in fits, never admitting that he was not looking at them at all.  If he had noticed, he would have seen them through the filter of his own dissatisfaction, her eyes would have been black orbs.  But she went on and talked and sweated and came.  He came infrequently, and only when he forgot himself and the friction of sex took over.

"Where are you?"  She grabbed his face and made him stare at her.  Her deep brown eyes glowed. She smile so perfectly he had to admit feeling.  Then he sunk it down, pushed the feeling below the three weeks of inertia.  He remembered to feel nothing and stared at her.  "You don't love me anymore?"  She lay back away from him, instantly cooling his chest as she did so.  Her breasts lilted back and her nipples pointed to the ceiling.  "Did you ever love me, I wonder?"

He lay there and a feeling of losing her came upon him, and he thought that it did multiple times the last three weeks.  And, when her perceived threat to leave came, he felt it pull upon him like an anchor.  "Of course I love you.  I have said it many times."  Maybe too many times.  That was true.

She turned away from him to expose her roundness.  Her curves from shoulder to thigh were impeccable.  He wanted to reach out touch it, knowing that this was going to end.

"Saying is one thing, dear.  Did you really mean it?"

He turned in his skin, he hated the word 'really'.  It was unnecessary.  It seemed to be a word loaded with narcissism, loaded with the need to justify.  "I said it," flatly.  He got up, sat up.  His back cooled and it felt good.  He half turned his head to her back, "What do you want me to say?  Aren't we together?  Did we just make love?"

"These are actions.  You have not shown me any affection."  Silence at truth.

She started to get dressed.  I didn't know she could show shame, he thought.  She pulled her breasts into the form-fitted soft cups, their shape ever appealing to him as he watched.  "Something changed."  She pulled up her stockings and he rose, happy that she was going to leave.  Happy so he wouldn't say what needed to be said.  She would go away for a day, maybe two.  He would cool off, forget about her.  Hate himself when he caught the fact that he hadn't thought about her.  Make some plans with his friends.  Read a book and be alone.  No one nearby to ask an insipid question.  It's as if the questions get more inane the more this goes on.  Why doesn't see get frustrated and not come back.  Why do I have to be the one to do something.  He didn't see through his own weakness.

She was dressed and he was naked.  He had blankly pulled on a vape stick, which seemed to be ever near.  This week was gin.  Not only did it have the high, crisp smell of it, but apparently it was infused with a bit of the alcohol.  He blew it to cover the smirk on his face.  This part wasn't bad: she goes away for a few days, however and whatever 'they' do.  It didn't matter.  It was the coming back that was getting more difficult.

She didn't even say 'bye' this time.  She always had to get the last word in, but this time was different.  He felt the pang, the small little ache he was going to lose her this time, but it was sadly getting better.  Maggie paused at the door, for a good few seconds.  At this, he stopped breathing.  He hadn't seen that before, Maybe she finally had enough.  Maybe she cannot go on like this.' She walked out, slamming the door slightly, but didn't say a word.  One thing he did stop himself, every time, was never belittle her verbally.  It was too cruel, even for him.

"Hm," he said and took another drag.  The exertion of sex, the coolness of sweat as it dries...it mixes so well with the pull of a stick.  He didn't have any more real alcohol, but that would've rounded out the feeling he needed.  Instead, he sat, naked, in the dining room, pulling on the vape until he ran it dry.  He stared out at the quiet city.  The gray light and white dots, spilling white light on the sides of the buildings.  Oddly, there were no sounds of either car or sirens.

[part 3 here]