Cold Light
The worn pillowcase quietly absorbs her tears as her crying gradually ceases. She takes a moment to calm and collect herself. This is exactly the reason why she usually tries to avoid thinking about her future and life. It's way too depressing and always ends up in tears. Because once she opens the gate, the merciless flood of negative painful distressing thoughts, memories and facts will swallow her whole. She'll then be trapped in a swamp of self-pity, self-loathing and a sense of worthlessness for hours, days, or even weeks. A trip to the Land of Denial, on the contrary, is much more pleasant and easy. This is such a beautiful summer day, after all. No one should lock herself inside her small shabby rented home. Everyone should go to the beach and enjoy the sun and the smell of the sea instead of weeping like a child and feeling extremely sorry for herself. All your troubles will cease to exist the moment you turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the world. She used to do that all the time, but now somehow she has gotten tired of the same meaningless trick.
It all started the day when Joe's kiss lost its charm.
It was just another typical pizza-ball game-beer-sex night. She had just finished her beer and second slice of pizza when Joe drew her into his arms and pressed his mouth against hers. She felt the touch of his parted lips. She felt the touch of his exploring tongue. She felt his desire. She felt his lust. But her heart, her soul, and the core of her being remained calm and numb. She felt no excitement. She felt no anticipation. She felt no passion. His kiss deepened. His eager hands moved under her shirt. He cupped her breasts. He pushed her down onto his chewed up couch. She, as always, didn't have to be a genius to knew what he wanted. Both the light and the TV were on, and she was torn in two. Her body wouldn't mind having an orgasm. But her brain simply wanted to watch the Yankees game. It didn't take long for her to make the obvious choice. She let Joe have his way. She didn't want to start another fight. And she had to fake in the end because she couldn't concentrate.
She closed her eyes to hide her true thoughts and real feelings. A part of her listened to Joe's moaning and ragged panting. A part of her kept focusing on Michael Kay's voice and cheering for the Yankees. She thought of Derek Jeter's charming smile. She thought of A-Rod's nice body. She thought of the ever so cute Eric Chavez. She inhaled and tasted the beer and garlic in Joe's breath and suddenly thought of Manny, Curt Schilling, Josh Beckett, and David Ortiz. She almost laughed out loud. And then it dawned on her that somehow their once enchanting kissing and magical lovemaking had become an almost boring routine. As if they had been married to each other for a thousand years. As if they had done both zillions and zillions times and thus lost interest. As if sex was but a duty and obligation to fulfill. Like taxes. Fucking annoying taxes. She quickly found an excuse afterward and did not spend the night. The first thing she did when she got home was taking a shower. A long, hot, thorough shower. She was in the middle of brushing her teeth when she realized she didn't initiated kisses or kiss Joe back. Not even once. And for some reason it made her feel a little bit gleeful and eerily relieved.
That was 91 days ago.
Of course Joe did not stop kissing her the very next day, and she didn't actually turn her face away whenever he leaned in. But she did stop counting them as kisses. Because they did not count. Not anymore. They were but a contact of tongues, teeth, and lips. There was no feelings or affection involved. She had no idea if Joe'd taken notice of her lack of response. She didn't even bother to try to close her eyes and pretend he was someone else. Her body was in his arms. Her heart was never there. It was away with that someone else. The man she desperately wants but dares not have.
Ranger.