She waits.
In the muted sounds of a lonely night, time slows to an implacable unrest. It moves with a drained impatience, as the moonlight drains everything of color – black and blues.
She watches the door from her trodden place on the couch, high and dry by the man who makes her slick and wild, the man who makes her forget. There is a sense of black water that surrounds her as black and bottomless as past regrets, but it is only the black floor that gleams at her – malicious grins and moonlit winks.
She takes a drag of her cigarette and glances over at the green eyes above the stove, waiting for the stroke of midnight. On cue, the clock in the hall tolls, deep and slow. She bites her lip.
In her hand, a cup of whiskey trembles. Her grip tightens and she guzzles the rest of it, feeling it burn her insides. Coughing, she rises from the couch and stumbles to the kitchen, fumbling through the liquor cabinet and refilling her glass. She doesn't sit back down, and instead, paces the floor.
The subdued sound of footsteps on wood is familiar to her. She counts them.
Three tolls later, her mind is numb with alcohol and the air thick with nicotine. The green eyes above the stove mock her, tell her he's late, tell her he's not coming.
She shoves the voice out and wishes he would come and take her and have his way with her. As long as he made her forget.
Behind her, there is a jingle of keys and the creaking of a door. Her heart leaps and she swivels.
He is there, briefcase in hand, jacket slung over an arm, towering in gold and silver – an opium to her nightmares. His shoulders are tired, but his eyes are sharp and hungry. In the darkness, she watches as he drops his briefcase to the floor and tosses his jacket over the couch. He crosses the room, and when he has his arms around her, her chest bent back beneath the pressure of his, mouth on hers, he murmurs her name:
"Kagome."
He trembles and she forgets.
When their naked body meets, there is a hiss of breath and a moan of pleasure. She dances to the rhythm of his body, frenzied and wanton. The shadows recede into the morning, waiting on the edge of daylight and watching.
In the late morning, she drinks black coffee to rid herself of nausea. In the late afternoon, he leaves for work again, giving her a quick kiss; she switches to alcohol.
The night comes and the cycle starts again.
She waits.