ix – her sleeping quarters

  Decorated in shades of orange and black, it’s an ode to Halloween, her favorite holiday. She’s agnostic, like me, and so isn’t into celebrating the birth of that christ or his alleged resurrection. But she loves getting presents on her birthday. Or any day for that mater. Who doesn’t?

It’s immaculately clean, her bedroom. She obviously uses her time for more than just playing WOW. Not a speck of dust. Not a thing out of place.

My attention turns to the king size bed. No warped crease in the middle. As I understand it, boyfriend has his side and doesn’t appreciate when she crosses the center axis. Cold feet be damned. Had a nightmare and want to cuddle? Too **** bad.

**** piece of **** son of a bitch loser.

My eyesight blurs. How can I hurt so much when it’s someone else’s pain?   

I move around the bed and see a small pile of Ariannas toys stacked neatly on the floor. Oversized Leggos. A coloring book. A Barbie with no pants on. Precious innocence.

Dominating the corner of the room, next to the window, sits boyfriend’s computer. Only the best for him.

I wont bore you with specifications. Just know there’s a monitor bigger than my TV and a hardrive powerful enough to accommodate his disgusting porn habit.

A sudden urge grips me. Break it. Throw it to the floor. Pummel it. All gangster like.

But I know better. I’m not supposed to be here.   

Separate dressers I was told. Now confirmed. I move toward the one that is chipped and missing some hardware. Of course it’s hers. The other is fit for the king he believes he is. 

I open the top drawer and am welcomed by multiple piles of her neatly folded underwear. Oranges and blacks. And one red.

I’ve seen this red pair in action. Several times. It fits her **** like a second skin. Disappearing in the fragrant folds of her tight cheeks as she moves to the rhythm of ‘Get off.’ I place my hand to my heart and will it to slow. Slow. Relax.

Was that a noise?

I stick my hand in and gently caress the fabric. I want to pick them up. Each one. Inspect them. Yes, plunge my nose and mouth into them. But that’s just so creepy. I don’t want to be that **** guy.

I close the drawer and look at myself in the vanity. I’m sweating. I reach out and pick up the bottle of perfume I bought her. It was a bribe.

No, not for sex. I thought I could trust you, my faithful readers, to not go there.

It was a bribe to get her to enroll in GED classes. I offered to pay. I offered to help her study. The Laila perfume was meant as a show of good faith.

HER: You know, I googled the perfume you got me. Do you have any idea how much it cost?

ME: Duh. I’m the one who bought it.

HER: That’s too much sweetheart. You’re too much. If he finds out…

ME: It was a gift of friendship darling. I just want you to get your education. I thought that…

HER: Thank you.

ME: (Heart swelling) Your very welcome.

The second drawer has no handles so I wedge my fingers in and pry it open.

On one side socks. Fresh. New. No wear and tear. No tread. Rarely ever worn by her glorious feet. Like I’ve said before, she spends 90% of the time barefoot.

On the other side, a camera, some sex lotions, an address book and some miscellaneous papers.

I close it, suddenly feeling like a total **** sleeze bag.   

   You see, Alyssa is always leaving things at my apartment. Cards. Shot glasses. Tupperware. T-shirts. Her keys.

I always put them in a bag and return them the next day. But this one time, I made a quick stop at my local hardware store first.

  I turn and do a teary eyed scan. The room is the same layout as my own bedroom. Our apartments are actually exactly the same, just reversed. Well, and of course there is one big difference…she lives in this one and I live in the other.

I’m almost 40 and I’ve avoided commitment my entire life. I’ve been engaged thrice and every time I backed out. One at the last possible minute.

Call me what you will my friends, but I am who I am. And right now, I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute to pack her an overnight bag and fly her to Vegas where some half drunk Elvis would marry us.

That’s right. I would marry her. Tomorrow. Now. Whenever. Forever.       

My senses are on overload. Her smell is everywhere. I can’t help myself. I climb unto the bed and inch my way toward the top, sniffing as I go. Letting my nose direct me to which side is hers. Easy task. I get to her pillow and I feel my stomach do a back flip.

This is my Heaven. My cloud nine. My Eden. I could die on her pillow and live a scented, passion filled eternity. I just know my dreams would be filled with love. No more waking up at 4 a.m. wondering if that was her knock on the door or just my air conditioner kicking in. No more waking up at 5 a.m. in a cold sweat, crying because…well, ****…I don’t know exactly why. But I do know that every time I see her I sleep like a baby.

And I haven’t seen her in five days. Or has it been four? Or six.

I feel like I’m a raindrop, living in a diseased cloud. Waiting impatiently for my turn to finally fulfill my destiny. To descend down upon Mother Earth and bring life to…to…to something.

I only want to bring life to her. Even if she turned on me a year down the road and left me once again alone and pathetic. As long as I knew she was happy. As long as I knew that she was finally headed in the right direction. As long as I knew that her and Arianna would never end up…

****. End up like me.       

 I form my face into the curves of her pillow and I am ecstasy. The tears come hot and they come heavy. Tears of sorrow and comfort. The definition of this contradiction of a love that I feel for her. Don’t get me wrong. It’s complete. I’m capable of unconditional. But it’s also burdened by a competitive greed and an insatiable need. Sexual. Mental. I want to be her future and I want her to look at her past and be all the more thankful for me. Is that wrong?   

I rub my face into the pillowcase and I am transported to my own fantasy world… 

  I anxiously climb into bed next to her. I feel her body form to mine and I feel her breath on my shoulder and I feel her stubbly legs and cold feet and I inhale a lock of her hair and I cough. She asks me if I am all right and I say, ‘Never been better darling.’ 

She nestles up close to me and our bodies become one. We make love without intercourse. We mesh into each other. Dovetail our souls. And when the passion becomes too much for just our minds to handle, we let our bodies take over and we make physical love. With wild abandon.          

   My dearest readers, if you could see me smile with my head on her pillow, if you could see how much happiness I am feeling by being on her side of the bed…well, you might even forgive me for doing what I have done. Forgive me for being here, in her apartment. When she is not. When I quite obviously shouldn’t be.

But her I am all the same. 

I close my eyes. And I am home.