Stop


“Stop.”

“Stop?” I said.

Collaborate and listen?

“Stop.”

I shouldn’t be thinking about Vanilla Ice right now. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but I was afraid he would respond with ‘I don’t like those kind of questions.’

His hand reached behind my ear pushing my hair back. It was an intimate gesture, in spite of the momentary rejection. He was in my bed. He pressed his lips against mine. When it stopped my head was resting on his chest.

He fell asleep quickly and I tried to keep my eyelids shut long enough so I would be sleeping too. His shirt smelled like he’d been working in a kitchen for twelve hours. I realized tonight we talked for longer than we ever had in the last ten years.

It was nice to have someone in my bed. I spent the night rationalizing this in my head, the innocence of sleeping together without the indiscretion. As if justifying male attention was a party trick I wish I had never learned. But I wanted to know why.

The morning light gradually snuck into my bedroom, his arms around me. It dawned on me that I still felt the same way around him as I did ten years ago. After the day I told him I was falling for him and he didn’t talk to me for a couple days.  My body wouldn’t move unless his moved, as if I didn’t want him to know I was still here. In my bed.

My dog jumped onto the corner of the bed while he was still sleeping. I was wide awake and warm. It felt like music on Sundays.

“Thanks for coming over,” I said, watching him put on his shoes.

 “It was fun.” He was looking at the floor.

I walked him to the door and said goodbye. When I got back in bed, it was empty and quiet. I stared up at the ceiling. All I wanted to do was listen to music.

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