#bodyawake

WELL ENOUGH.          you are alive,     at least.     alive with all ten fingers and toes,     with a heart that pumps at an  exact  sixty beats per minute,     with lungs that expand and deflate.          you are alive with  all five  vital organs and all twelve organ systems in  standard,     working condition.          this is good enough for you.

a stack of golden french fries sits in front of you,     and after a moment’s wait,     you reach out to pluck one from the basket.          it tastes just as you remember it to:     like  wet cardboard  with a little more  zest     ––     and so the next one you dip in catsup,     and the one after that in mayonnaise.

❛          i think we  both  know that if i answer that  truthfully,     you’ll tell me it’s  bullshit.           because this town is something you can’t even  begin  to fathom.          it  bothers you  that it’s working out  fine  for me.          doesn’t it  ?          ❜

a glance to your side,     expectant.          you can tell he’s  stewing  on something.          you think about stirring the pot,     and how easy it would be to bring it to  a boil.           the corner of your mouths hooks into a small grin,     barely  noticeable,     and you look back to the basket of fries.

❛          hand me the  salt  ?          ❜

‘  look  --   ‘    she doesn’t really want to kick him out. she feels bad. he’s been rambling on and on about his girlfriend and about how things were so weird in this town that she actually felt sorry for him. granted, she did. she always felt sorry for the ones that lost something before they came here. it only got worse. 

THE FIRST THING HE DOES IS LAUGH.          the corners of his mouth hitch in that  slant of a grin  he always felt looked wrong,     the skin around his eyes crinkling;     it’s the kind of laughter that spills without forethought,     and dies in your throat just as quick.          he disregards the phantom ache it leaves in his chest and how the muscles and tendons pulled almost unnaturally back into calm indifference,     as if the comment had never been made.

at first,     he starts to believe it hadn’t.          he reaches for the bottle and watches the pour of liquor into a styrofoam cup he pulled from the stockroom;     it may not do much in the way of smothering the flame that burns  white hot  in the pit of his stomach when he looks at him,     but at least it will keep his mouth distracted.

❛          have  you  ?          do i even  know  you  ?          ❜

oh,     he does.          he has known him for quite some time,     because of her.          he knows him  intimately,  in ways  no one  should ever know a stranger.          he will never tell him this.          that his touch,     how it circles around his wrist and guides his movements,     is  reminiscent  of hers.     that his hand feels  empty  without the bourbon and that his lips have numbed from how much of it he has drank.          that he cannot feel the warmth in his kiss the same way he did with her.     

maybe if he had met joaquín first.          maybe if he had known less,     felt more.          maybe if the ring of the call bell from front reception hadn’t interrupted    ––    because only then does he draw away,     finishing what’s left of his drink in a single swallow.

❛          what i  have  is a headache.          it’s getting late.          maybe you should go.          ❜

QUESTION SENTENCE STARTERS   /   accepting

dark brown hues look up from the ground, and she can’t really do anything but shrug her shoulders. what was she supposed to do? fully admit to this kid that she served his girlfriend or fiance or whatever the hell her relation was to him her last couple of shooters before she went home with her friend? that she knew that she died later that night? she couldn’t throw jonah under the bus like that, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to admit something like that to the poor guy behind the bar, drowning in whatever seemed to make the pain go away. looked like whiskey, but she can’t remember. she doesn’t really pay that close of attention, but something’s telling her that she should.

‘  just a gut feeling.  ‘