This was wrong. Everything was wrong. The bed? It didn’t smell like hers. And she couldn’t remember why. Things spun out of her frontal lobe and her memory failed her.
And then it all came back to her when she saw him.
It rained yesterday. Did they have rain sex?
She wouldn’t know, would she? But then again, she did.
He and his mother had another brawl again last night. A huge one this time. What the hell was she doing there in his house? She left him over a year ago! She just cannot walk in and out of his life as if in a theme park man?! What the fuck?!
So his mother noticed everyone but not her own daughter she had always neglected? What kind of a mother was she? Did she feel the need to sleep with yet another man after a divorce and a re marriage?
“His temper”, she reminisced with a little smile. “Always gets the best of him”.
It was still raining when he came back. He was fucking angry and she knew it. He punched the wall, feeling utterly angry, disgusted and sick at the same time.
“It’s okay! It’s okay baby, it’s okay.” She held his face in her hands and made him look at her. She kept telling him that it was okay.
Anger turned into passion soon and he kissed her, pulling her close to him. He kissed her feeling angry and hurt at the same time. He hated everything and he kissed her in hate. He hated his mother, his father, his sister and he hated her the most. But he kissed her and she kissed him back.
Anger took it’s physical form and what they did not make love that night because it was imperative in the absurdest sense & seemed fitting. They made love bearing pain, anger, sadness, resentment and hatred in heart. Time ceased to exist as a dimension in their world and they endlessly lost themselves to each other .
She saw him standing there, his hair messed up, torn jeans and over sized tee that did nothing to show off his toned abs with his car keys in his hand. And he looked at her the way he always did, the way she last remembered seeing him before he left her. He didn’t smile, no & he wasn’t condescending. But she knew that look.
“It’s been a year”, he said.
“And I still can’t forget you”, she said, reciting the line verbatum from the conversation she thought she would have with him if such a thing ever happened.
As she put on her white tee and denim shorts with the rain pouring outside her blood rusted window, she reminded herself to buy fresh lillies for his grave.