Alone and Unsurprised


I wake up alone and unsurprised.

I roll over to where he should be. I run my hand over the space where he was lying. It’s cold. He’s been gone a while.

I remember stirring earlier as he was leaving. I remember opening my eyes to his bare back in front of me – he was sitting on the edge of the bed as he pulled on his socks. I remember the glare of the clock. Its red six-oh-two is still burned into my blurry vision.

Before that, I remember him rolling off of me. I remember the emptiness he left.

Before that, I remember him inside of me. I remember remembering how good this felt.

Before that, I remember him entering me. I remember gasping as he did… it hurt, as if it were the first time all over again. It had been a while, OK? I don’t need to explain myself to you…

Before that, I remember trying desperately to calm myself in the bathroom. Staring at myself in the mirror. I wasn’t nearly as drunk as I’d wanted to be. I didn’t have the arrogant bravado the situation called for.

“Stop that,” I had whispered to my body as it stood there shaking, naked, feet cold on the tiles beneath them.

I remember the conversation that had preceded any of this. I groan, wishing again I had been more drunk. I don’t want that memory.

I feel dirty. Turning to see the money on the bedside table doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s for the room, I know, but I can’t help feel like a cheap whore. I thumb through the notes.
Okay, not that cheap, maybe.
I walk to the shower, doing my best to ignore my accusatory reflection as I pass the mirror. She won’t be pleased with me.


~ by Joseph Blame on October 3, 2010.

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