#comptop

You are six episodes and twelve beers deep on the couch. Clumsy hands start to stay on her for extra moments. Across your skin an alcoholic warmth pulls back into your core.

A candle!

Cold wind and anxiety filters through you. But you're a good partner. You know what she likes.

Then maybe it can be your turn!

Every tonights dread lives fresh and old in your mind. She wants you. Maybe you haven't quite had her yet. But you know what a good partner does. You're a good partner.

You are!

So the night goes on. You watch the last episode. The show is over. You're upstairs. The lights go off. And then the work begins.

Shaking hands trace old patterns. It's not comfortable. But you're a good partner. Her noises warm you. You're doing so good!

You try to feel it through her. But nothing is right. Worms turn under your skin. Focus on something before it gets to you.

You're in the factory. Watching the complex machines weave together bedsheets. You're in a lab, researching how these polymer fabrics were discovered. You're painting drywall.

Muscles ache, sweat drips down your back. You're struggling. Somewhere, a candle is flickering. Thankfully, you're watching paint dry, then chip.

Shes writhing under you. Her sounds fill your ears. You hate that you're a chemist in a lab.

Even with the roaring buzz from the alcohol, you feel all of those worms turning in your flesh. Thankfully, the textile mill churns louder than your own thoughts.

Why aren't you there? A good partner would be there.

The workers you aren't flicker, then fade. You feel a shuddering...something. it's over. Finally. Your habits fire off and move spent muscles. Clean, water, clothes, blanket. Give her comfort.

Think about what she just went through.

You are settled. Holding her body. A candle falls somewhere in you. And your skin dances with flame. Your hands touch hers. Then guide them just bellow your ribs. You press her hands into your stomach. She is touching you!

Your fires surge. And for the first time, in the ink black, you hear your noises. Deep and gutteral. Coming from the same place in your chest where your hands hold hers. They are ugly. Nothing like hers.

You are sobbing

Her hands pull away, and she turns over. A plea slips from you, then apologies flow after. Your skin burns everywhere she isn't. She tells you she works tomorrow.