"But I didn't sleep with her, I swear it!" I said, holding her fist from connecting with my face.
"Tell me the truth, or you ain't gettin' outta this bed alive, Mr.," Hannah Jane said.
I gulped back a lump in my throat. "What, do you want me to lie?"
"Don't play fuckin' stupid with me, dude!" Hannah said.
"Fine. I did it," I said. "Is that what you wanna—"
"I knew it." Hannah connects a left and then a right hook to my right eye socket.
I crawl to sit up, holding my hand to my cheek.
"Lie there!" she said, pushing my back. "You might die here unless you tell me the fucking truth!"
My breath quickens the rise and fall of my chest like toothpicks, pulling me apart at the seams—like fingernails clawing a chalkboard.
Hannah Jane couldn't hide her tongue under a word she left hanging in the stillness of a solitary expectation of solace.
First comes heavy breathing and kissing a thought under a feeling.
And then comes endless staring at the ceiling, losing my clothes, trust, and insecurity.
I was tearing my guard to shreds.
I was tearing apart my bed.
She was ripping up a crumpled note.
Hannah was squeezing my hands to shreds, and the covers tangled around our bodies to
twisted desires flowing through our veins.
Our passion stimulates heat, and our bodies sweat and roll, smothered in comfort.
We pressed our lips against each other's body as if coming home from a long flight
reunited.
We snuggled and nibbled creases and shadows and skin.
My humbleness explodes into knots.
I'll make it easy, not being what she wants.
Lighting exploded, her eyelids ghost-white stuck open, not closin' as her body shook with thunder; she moaned.
and
Hannah's eyes rolled back—as if demon-possessed.
Words escaped her lips I hadn't heard before (or since).
Hannah came to a screeching halt, and her body had become dead weight.
She raked her fingers through her hair.
"Oh my God, that was awesome," she said, crawling off my body, flipping on the light
and shoving her feet into her skinny jeans.
I gotta get home before dinner, she said, kissing my cheek.
I scoot to a sitting position.
"What the fuck just happened?" I asked myself as I heard the door slam shut.
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Position of Neutral
PoetryBen's throat cancer has returned. Living a lonely life, he found a woman he loves but finds out she's been unfaithful. Ben starts to think the lonely position of neutral isn't that bad. He writes poems and dialogue narratives. Will Ben survive cance...
