flipflop_diva

It’s the feel of skin under her fingers as she runs her long nails down pale flesh. It’s the feeling of a heavy weight pressing against her, over and over. It’s the moment when nothing else matters except the shaking of her muscles and the escape from the world. It’s the knowledge that she isn’t really alone after all.

She doesn’t say a word when it’s over, just reaches for a drag and lets the taste comfort her. He murmurs false compliments that she doesn’t listen to, closing her eyes and trying not to think. When the breathing beside her evens, she sits up, slips her clothes on and heads out.

She hails a cab and doesn’t bother to look at her surroundings. She’ll never be back here again. She doesn’t know his name. She prefers it that way.

•••

For the next three days, she is fine. The woman she has always wanted to be. Confident and proud and strong. She holds her head high, smiles at everyone and assures them she’s doing great, thank you very much.

But it’s all a lie.

The house feels too big, the bedroom much too small, strangling her in memories she can’t get away from.

She sleeps on the couch and wakes up to the feel of another person beside her. But all she sees staring back at her is a faded green pillow.

His voice is in her head, his presence is everywhere.

She gathers his clothes and burns them in the backyard, but she can’t destroy everything. There is much too much to get away from.

Rest in peace, they all mumbled as they filed out of the church that sticky spring day.

She wishes that she could.

•••

It only takes a phone call and her girlfriends are dropping everything. The bar is loud and the drinks are flowing, and she spots one in the corner, looking her way.

“Be careful,” her friends warn.

“Don’t do this,” they say.

But they don’t understand.

She needs to feel. She needs to be alive. She needs to remember.

She sidles up next to him, downs the glass the bartender hands her. She smiles and looks him in the eye and pretends to care.

He asks her if she wants to go back to his place, and he makes no pretenses about what that means.

She knows if she says yes, she’ll feel better in an hour. She knows if she says yes, she’ll feel loved and safe and normal. She knows if she says yes, she’ll be back in this bar in three days time, doing this all again.

“Don’t do this,” her friends say.

She smiles and says yes.

Written for Week 23 of