Giggling, caressing, shedding, we glide onto the king-sized bed, pushing its decorative runner to meet the wine-stained carpet. Our bodies form a tangled necklace; our limbs its dangling charms. Arms wrapped around my shoulders, you grin sloppily, then kiss my forehead gently. I tell myself that I am lucky: I have wanted this. You. Whisper a question disguised in innocence, but dripping in ridicule, and I know.
My body shrinks like an ocean ebb tide receding from the coast; diminished as we’re released from our orbits’ gravitational pulls. My throat turns dry and I stutter an incomplete answer. Desperate to reconstruct reality, I let you slide my hand to float over your heart and force the thump-thump beneath my palm to mean more than it does. As you fall asleep, your breathing grows slow and staticky. Images from earlier that evening swirl in my mind: when we wandered the cobblestone roads, sat snugly on an empty park bench next to the rose garden, where you told me how much you wanted me, but failed to mention you were lying.
I bury a whimper into my pillow, pause for breath, turn over. I cannot drown the truth. Why did I take pictures of us when we weaved through the trio of arches that faced the rippling midnight water? You asked, then snickered and said you didn’t want them. That they were meant for me to remember. The air conditioner buzzes. On the ground below, someone kicks a patio chair and it scrapes the deck surrounding the figure-eight shaped pool. A painful screech. The clock radio’s white numbers tremble just before the four rapidly flips to a five, silently reaching a new destination.
Marilyn Duarte holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Tampa’s low-residency program and is currently a Staff Writer at Longleaf Review, a Creative Nonfiction, Contributing Editor at Barren Magazine, and an Assistant Creative Nonfiction Editor at Pithead Chapel. Her work has appeared in The Tishman Review, (mac)ro(mic), Ellipsis Zine, Assay: A Journal of Nonfiction Studies, and elsewhere. Originally from Toronto, she now divides her time between Canada and Portugal. You can find her at www.marilynduartewriter.com and on Twitter @MareDuarte28.