Falling
Slowly and as quietly as possible, he picked up his clothes. Although they had been removed rather rapidly there did not seem to be any lasting or noticeable damage. He dressed and stood at the foot of the motel bed, watching her. The sheets were tangled around her legs, her head wasn't even on a pillow, and one arm was still sprawled out from where it had been flung over him. Even in this ungainly state, she still conveyed a sense of wonder. Her body was lit by a street-lamp outside the window. As he watched, a small tremble passed over her body. He knelt down on the floor and after locating the duvet spread it over her in a sweeping movement. She did not stir.
Deciding it really was the time to leave, he made towards the door. He noticed a scrap of paper on the floor, his scrap of paper. He picked it up and again stood still in the half-light. How could such a tiny piece of paper pose such a great dilemma? He glanced back at the bed, could he just walk away or should he leave something of himself behind? Was this a good idea? The occupant of the bed sighed and turned over, facing the door. Although he could not see her face, he could tell that she was still asleep. He did not need light to see her bruise, it was burnt into his memory. Did he ever really have a choice? He approached the bed and put his number on the bedside table, not believing that he had even considered taking it away.
He then spent a few moments picking up her clothes, and her tags. She was air force, of course she would be, he wondered if he would ever be able to escape it. He could not linger any longer, so he dumped the tags and clothes on a chair and left.
*** I can still feel that piece of paper in my hand, and hear the sound it made when I put it on the table. I will never regret that action. Never.
The sedative must be wearing off. I can feel my other self returning. Little by little, my mind-set changes. I must have more sedative.
Slowly and as quietly as possible, he picked up his clothes. Although they had been removed rather rapidly there did not seem to be any lasting or noticeable damage. He dressed and stood at the foot of the motel bed, watching her. The sheets were tangled around her legs, her head wasn't even on a pillow, and one arm was still sprawled out from where it had been flung over him. Even in this ungainly state, she still conveyed a sense of wonder. Her body was lit by a street-lamp outside the window. As he watched, a small tremble passed over her body. He knelt down on the floor and after locating the duvet spread it over her in a sweeping movement. She did not stir.
Deciding it really was the time to leave, he made towards the door. He noticed a scrap of paper on the floor, his scrap of paper. He picked it up and again stood still in the half-light. How could such a tiny piece of paper pose such a great dilemma? He glanced back at the bed, could he just walk away or should he leave something of himself behind? Was this a good idea? The occupant of the bed sighed and turned over, facing the door. Although he could not see her face, he could tell that she was still asleep. He did not need light to see her bruise, it was burnt into his memory. Did he ever really have a choice? He approached the bed and put his number on the bedside table, not believing that he had even considered taking it away.
He then spent a few moments picking up her clothes, and her tags. She was air force, of course she would be, he wondered if he would ever be able to escape it. He could not linger any longer, so he dumped the tags and clothes on a chair and left.
*** I can still feel that piece of paper in my hand, and hear the sound it made when I put it on the table. I will never regret that action. Never.
The sedative must be wearing off. I can feel my other self returning. Little by little, my mind-set changes. I must have more sedative.