Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 4

"Quite untrue. I was absolutely terrible at lab work." Barbie tries to picture Oppenheimer as a student, younger, maybe in a lab coat. His features were probably softer, not grown into. His eyes, just as amazing and wide with wonder about space and everything in it. "Besides, I would have pointed you toward the mouthwash regardless."

"Why, so I could do this?" She leans in for a kiss, and he reciprocates just as tenderly, his hand still on her cheek.

"Precisely," he says when he pulls away, and Barbie takes in his smile, how his teeth are a little crooked but how it just fits the rest of his face and just adds to those features she's found so captivating.

She kisses him again, briefly, then steps away, taking in the state of the room. The sheets are strewn about the bed, comforter almost completely off at this point. The pillows are just a little rumpled. His clothes mix with hers about the floor, piles of pink and grey at the foot of the bed and over by the armchairs. The only thing that doesn't match, and that catches Barbie's eye, is his powder blue button-down, just under her pink slip.

Oh, she's always wanted to do this, like she's seen in those fun romcoms, after the couple has sex and they're just basking in the afterglow. But God forbid the audience see more of the woman's body, or the man's, with clothes and sheets always placed strategically over breasts and genitals. Unlike those movies, though, Barbie just grabs the shirt and doesn't bother to do any buttons, because really, what point is there to covering up when they've both seen it all, anyway? She's wearing it more just to take more of him in, committing to memory that faint scent of chalk and musk and maybe bourbon. Scents she never thought she would like, but now wants to cling to, to always remember this night.

"Oh, darn, I got lipstick all over the collar," Barbie points out as she pulls on the sleeves. She must have gotten a little too enthusiastic in the dark there. Pink smudges litter all over the pressed crease, to the point where no one can deny exactly what happened.

Oppenheimer turns from the nightstand, cigarette back in his mouth. This time he's got the match lit, and he leans in to light the end, and Barbie starts to really get when some people say they find the act enticing, even if they don't smoke themselves. He stares at her, blinking for a few moments as he takes in the stains she's gotten on his shirt, and some of the color drains from his face. "Well. That's unfortunate," he finally says, speaking slowly.

"I'm so sorry, do you want me to soak it in some cold water?" she suggests, but as she's saying it, the idea seems pretty fruitless. It's been lingering on the fabric for a while now. Also, the smudges will probably only get bigger if she tries. So Barbie just sinks into one of the armchairs, the one facing the window, sighing at how she feels like she can keep falling into it forever, with its warm colors and soft pillow at the small of her back. Chairs don't exist like this in modern hotel rooms—at least, not at the ones where she's ever stayed.

"You keep apologizing for things that are mostly out of your control," he points out, walking over to her to observe the damage. Oppenheimer hums when his eyes roam over the collar of his shirt. "Again, what's done is done. It's certainly not the end of the world." His hands brace either side of the armchair, and he leans in to kiss her assuringly.

"Okay." Honestly, she kind of likes that she's left marks on his shirt, as this reminder that she's here, she's real, and he won't forget her anytime soon.

"Blue could also be your color," he compliments as he steps back, moving to settle into the armchair across from her. He crosses his legs, which Barbie can't help but find a little funny, and yet somehow effortlessly attractive. "Then again, you would probably look gorgeous in any color without a problem."