Quies
White Star 2
He was slumped over her, his head on her shoulder. Neither of them could breathe, neither could speak. She didn't want to speak. She was afraid of what she'd say. Something like, "I love you so much." Something like "I really hate you right now." So she said nothing at all.
She lay there, feeling the tingle through her fingers, through her temples, even in her cheeks. She didn't want to move. Neither did he. She felt his back, drew circles on the sweaty skin. He was still catching his breath. She supposed that so was she.
Maybe he had something to say, maybe not. If he did, she probably didn't want to hear it. So she felt her finger over the line that changed from beard to hair to skin where hair used to be. And then he muttered, "CJ," and she held her breath, waiting for what was to come. There was nothing but his breathing, still heavy, and the hum of the air conditioner.
She thought of saying something, she didn't know what, even opened her mouth to start it, and the tingle, what seemed like the last of it, danced on her palate. She closed her mouth. Maybe, she thought, it was fucking Toby that kept her quiet.
He was still in her, and she still had her leg around his hip. She moved it, slowly, down his legs until her toes touched the bottom of his foot. He shifted, not just ticklish, but uncomfortable. Then he lifted himself, more lifted than rolled, off her, and slumped down next to her. She bit her lower lip, sucked on it, to make the last of the tingling sensation go away. Even the good things had to end.
And before she could stop it, not that she really tried to, her mind was flooded with elections and misspeakings and political games and MS. All the things she didn't want to have anything to do with just for tonight. All the things that being with Toby inevitably reminded her of.
Most nights, it just ended, right there. She would stare at the ceiling or close her eyes while he got dressed and left, usually without a word. They would avoid each other's eyes in the morning.
Only, this time he stayed, his hand across her stomach. She bit her lip again. She listened to his breathing and for an instant thought that the sheets were starting to smell like cigars again, that she needed to change them when he left. If he left. That tomorrow night she was going to stay out late after work, or maybe spend the night at the office. Anything but come home.
No, not work. Any place where he couldn't find her.
"CJ," he said again. She turned her back to him. She fell asleep first, without replying.