Elizabeth Garavaglia
Winner of the 2019 LSSU Short Story Award
There’s nothing that makes you feel more trapped than being told you can’t leave. That’s how people get stuck in jobs, schools, marriages. In my case, it was Hope Memorial Psychiatric just outside Cincinnati, OH. A mental hospital. Stuck in the routines that doctors set out for me, eating things they’d tried to call food, and trying to sleep through the night terrors of people worse off than me. I think I’d rather be stuck in a loveless marriage at this point. But at least I wasn’t all doped on medication, babbling about myself in these group sessions. Maybe the meds would be better, who knows? It figures this is what I get for not wanting to do “the do.”
I never had the infamous first sex dream. All that talk of men’s hard-lined bodies, tense jawlines, and enrapturing arms pressed into the softness of my womanly body. It left me feeling alarmed. I remember the girls in my school talking about their favorite male celebrities, hunched together and giggling and I’d join in, thinking we were talking about who did the best in their roles. But then there’d be one girl who would straighten her back, a knowing look on her face, smirk, and coo I know what fun I’d have with him. It would take me back, because what fun could teenage girls have with adults?
Those men had nothing in common with us.
It didn’t take me long to find out I preferred the soft touches of another woman, fresh into adulthood I met her. Isabella. Those laughing eyes drew me in, the hugs that never quite left, and the warmth of her side against mine brought silence to my mind. I felt special, the way her tongue rolled out my name, as if my one syllable deserved more, as if I deserved more. Brrree. She’d finished it with a giggle every time, and I couldn’t help but smile back. She was the star that finished my constellation. Isabella was an engineering major, business minor–that’s how we met–but she taught me more about myself than a degree ever could.
But I still never got those urges. The ones that made her hand wander from my hip to circling my inner thigh. I wanted my heart to race from excitement, but instead it pounded with dread and confusion. I loved Isabella, but I didn’t want to do anything about it. I just wanted to hold her and admire her. But instead I pushed her away. Starting a fight bought me time to try and understand what was happening and why there was a part of me with no interest in taking that last, expected step.
The longer I waited, the more hurt and insecure Isabella became. She took out her insecurity in various ways. Sometimes it was passive aggressive and she’d stop doing anything around the house or even for herself, over the course of weeks or even months. So I would just silently pretend I didn’t notice, doing everything. Even feeding her at times. An ache in my chest would scatter itself and burn down walls, while claws tore out a space in my stomach for anxiety to settle in deeper. When Isabella acted out aggressively, banners of broken pride cascaded down her sunset cheeks and I stood stiffly while she screamed What is wrong with you? or Why don’t you think I’m beautiful? and her favorite was Is there someone else?. In all honesty, I didn’t know what was wrong, the thought of having sex with anyone, even the girl I thought was the most beautiful, most loving person in the world made my skin feel inside out and hard-etched with gravel. But I didn’t know how to tell her that without hurting her and our relationship even further.
Then one day she came into our apartment, and cornered me. I could feel the dread swelling up beside my stomach once again, reaching out for my lungs and swinging between them. Her normally playful eyes were dark now as she stared me down. I can barely remember the exact words now, just their meaning. Maybe the radio had been playing too loud. It was some classical station she loved, but it wasn’t coming through. I couldn’t focus on that and her arm wrapped around my waist in a desperate attempt for me to understand this desire I was denying her, her eyes pleading. Begging. As if I were torturing her with this physical denial. Her words demanded I have sex with her or our relationship, all previous love attached to it, was over.
So I did it.
I forced myself to do what I thought would save our love, and maybe my tears are still stains on her thighs, but I try not to ask myself that. I don’t want to think of her as a nasty thing. It makes it harder to think of the love I felt for her as real and it was, but something about having sex made it something stranger. Something distorted. Sometimes I remember her moans and to many I’m sure it would be sexy and pleasurable, but I also remember hearing her apologizing in my ear, knowing she had done something I didn’t want. All of it is kind of fuzzy, like a radio station that half comes in, about to fade out. It’s there though. Barely.
Isabella left me about a month later. She said my body wasn’t responsive enough whenever she was “loving me.” Her fingers are branded inside, over, and throughout me. I don’t blame her for leaving. We loved each other, but we didn’t love each other right, you know? I won’t force my half love on anyone again. Not like I’ve already tried. With her and with myself.
Of course I didn’t tell the group any of this.
“Bree, did you hear me?” My eyes shifted over to the doc, her eyes wide in that doe-eyed concerned way. They were pretty, conventionally. But I preferred my rounded almond shaped ones personally. Slowly, I nodded, adjusting my sweats and clearing my throat.
“I don’t think of myself as a victim Doc, that’s not really why I’m here.” She smiled her ominous smile, and I noticed her burgundy lipstick had faded over into her off-kilter midnight skin. It was a small detail, but I focused on it instead of the people all around me, their faces eluding me. Intentionally.
“Why are you here Bree?” My mouth twisted around her name, then around the newfound word I’d come to associate with myself. Dread suddenly began to inflate itself inside me, using my stomach as bongos and my heart as timbales; discordant and reverberating throughout my body. Staring straight through her, I replied flatly.
“Because I don’t want to have sex with anyone.” Her eyebrow furrowed slightly and a couple people in the circle shifted, eager to show their distaste at my comment.
“Do you think that’s something that needs to be fixed?” Rolling my head, I smiled half-heartedly.
“I just think it’s a fact Doc. Everyone else thinks it’s something that needs to be fixed.” Nodding, the doc turned her attention to someone else in the circle. I could only half hear his words as I stared out the window behind us, the sun spying through and warming my cheek. This hospital never felt warm, even on sunny days like today and it made me wonder if keeping us cold was supposed to make us more cooperative. It didn’t affect me much, I had known coldness much worse.
The coldness that I had felt sitting in the bathtub of my apartment, resting my forehead against the wall. The hot water had run out a long time ago, but if you asked me how long, I couldn’t say. If I had blinked in that time it would’ve been slow and few between because my eyes were wide open and seemed to be trained on my bar of peach soap, but really something beyond it. The pervasive invasion of the water running down and over all parts of my body, leaving no territory unclaimed or unmarked reminded me of Isabella, of what she had described as passion, but I only remembered as desecration. My rusted shower head screeched to do its job and it reminded me of the piercing sound that rang throughout my ears the entire time I let her explore my body, focusing on the water stain of our ceiling. How odd the things you notice when you’re waiting for something to end. Second by second.
At some point, I had moved into the kitchen, the shower head still screaming in the other room, water all over my floors and I stood over my kitchen sink with a chef knife to my wrists. Thinking about how to keep as much blood as I could in the sink. The firm steel felt as if it were vibrating against my skin, sitting on the surface yet somehow inside my veins. Some other part of me set the chef knife down, shut off the shower, got myself dressed, and I walked down, almost by instinct, to the psychiatric hospital. The one an old college friend used to intern at. Then I told the nurse what happened with no tone, watching her eyes panic. Her face remained calm and asked if I was checking myself in. The same part of me that set down the knife said yes. Since then, that part has stopped running the show.
That guy was glaring at me, even more annoyed that I wasn’t really paying attention to the fact that I was insulting his prudish sensibilities. Which I regularly did.
“I just don’t understand why she always has to be so–”
“Now, let’s not attack each other for how we’re coping or adjusting okay?” The man released a loud scoff and I just smirked. He’s been here longer than I have. His pasty skin practically faded into these pristine, antiseptic walls. His OCD would never let him actually touch the walls of course, just the doors. Exactly 14 times, so it was over 13. The unlucky number. I didn’t particularly mind though, it’s not like I had anywhere to be. I never caught his name. Probably on purpose. There was also the Polynesian girl I shared a room with, Liliana, here for an eating disorder, but didn’t fit the regular profile because she was almost 200 pounds. College put a bit too much stress on her is my personal opinion, but what do I know? Definitely bulimic though, I can hear her trying to throw up sometimes, even hours after meals. The schizophrenic ex-professor, Noel maybe? She went off her meds to try and finish her grant research and often tries to refuse even now. She’s almost done with that research apparently through her coworkers and phone time. And lastly, Dwayne who is our mystery guest. Right now, I’m guessing anxiety disorder, but honestly he’s the wild card around here. All I know is, he always had a little book with him, not sure what it was though, it’s always tucked tightly against his chest as he stares off into the galaxies, relaying some messages. Perhaps the daily weather report. Then there’s me. The lesbian who doesn’t want to have sex, ever. Iconic. I crossed my arms over my chest. I knew that wasn’t the real reason I was here, but it certainly felt like it. There was suddenly a bump against my arm and my head jerked around to see Liliana staring down at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Lesgo, come on sista.” She was probably the closest thing I had to a friend here. Moving to my feet, I watched her shake her head with her hands on her hips.
“You acting so lolo, keep doing like you do in here and one of these days, the doc is going to be absolutely done with you, pau!” I had remembered the feeling of being given up on, I had survived it before, from someone who meant much more to me. I could survive it again. I wrapped my arms around my ribs and pressed through the meat of my body to count each one repeatedly as we walked down the meandering hall, reminding myself where my body was. I replied with a surprising coolness for the dryness of my throat.
“They won’t write about me as a tragedy Liliana, just another horror story about sex.” A baffled look scattered across her face as she lightly hit my shoulder.
“You got as many moods as kai sista, the ocean. Besides how they gonna use you? You don’t even have sex. It’s kine your thing.” I was about to explain when the doc popped up next to us, that professional smile slapped into place. We smiled back as she began in her slow, measured way.
“Bree, would you come with me to my office?” It was formed as a question, but I knew it wasn’t. Glancing back at Liliana, I waved and then nodded. My small act of defiance was refusing to walk beside her and I zeroed in on her clicking heels, not too tall for the workplace, but not too short to be unappealing, in a conventional way. They were a lovely shade of matte black. Again, sensible and conventionally appealing. But they didn’t contrast against the black and white floors. Click, click, click, click. Something about me wanted them to clack. Just once. To go against that pattern. That pattern that seemed to make everyone else feel so safe, and yet made me feel so out of place. My head whipped up as we approached her office, but I didn’t make eye contact as I squeezed past her through the door. The dim lighting was supposed to be relaxing, but it always seemed to remind me of rich man’s bar. Maybe it was all the diplomas on the wall, the deep leather of the furniture, or the neverending messiness of her desk that made it look like all she did was sit at that desk. But hey, women gotta represent. Like always, I sat in the emerald green studded, leather chair that stood stiffly, but directly underneath the brightest lamp in the room. Doc chuckled and half-heartedly attempted to tidy her desk.
“I hope you’ll excuse the mess.” Resting my cheek in my palm, I nodded out of habit and crossed my knees snuggly.
“So what to talk about today Doc? How do you feel about my progress?” She chuckled sardonically, the first unprofessional thing she’d done the whole time I’d been here and it caught my attention enough for my eyes to actually move to where she was. I paid full attention to her now. Her hands were interlaced and she was watching me curiously as she leaned onto the desk. More doctor than fellow human right now. It allowed me to actually take her seriously.
“You’ve been here for 20 days now. We both know you get released tomorrow since you haven’t proven to be a danger to yourself or others in this time. Your depersonalization and derealization don’t seem to be interfering with your daily functioning anymore. However, I think we both know you disrespected the process and I’m not entirely sure why you even came in the first place if you didn’t actually want a doctor’s help. So I’m giving you one last chance for a one-on-one session before group therapy tomorrow afternoon. Open up, it truly helps Bree. Not half-heartedly like you have been doing, I mean get everything out in the open. We can sit here a little while for you to think about it.” I stared back at her unrelenting eyes, practiced smile, repeating her words with that soft, unwavering voice. And it infuriated me inside. All she cared about was results, getting her answers, the bottom line. My fingers dug into the leather on the chair and I wished I could tear it open. I wanted it to be destroyed, like my trust, like my faith in systems, in traditions, in relationships, in connection. Instead I stared back, hoping she’d hear the screaming pounding at my skull, trying to crush it from the inside out and it would melt away her professional facade. As long as I was alive, she would never hear about my struggles, about who I was. I clenched my teeth, furious as a tear ran down my cheek, causing the doc to tilt her head, fake empathy filling her face.
“Would you like to talk about what’s overwhelming you perhaps?” Breaking eye contact, I stared at the door, ready to break through not just that doorway, but the main entrance.
“No.” Her smile weakened and she nodded.
“Very well, if you don’t wish to speak, you can go back to your room.”
I zoned out until the end of group. Ready to get back to my room where my bags were already packed. They had been packed since midnight because I hadn’t slept a wink. Too busy making plans. Liliana walked with me back to my room and I hugged her goodbye. She’d be the only person I would actually miss. Who knows, maybe we would meet again someday. I hoped so. Right now though I was about to be free, and my talk with the doc yesterday made me realize people were going to continue trying to make me what they thought was right, not who I should be. As I approached the doc, I couldn’t help that my body language got closed off and I stared her down. Her hands were folded at her waist, proper as ever, and I smiled tightly.
“See ya Doc.” There was almost an inkling of sadness in her eyes as she tilted her head and shook my hand as professionalism would indicate.
“We’ll miss your quick wit around here Bree.” The guy with OCD scoffed, twisting the doorknob in quick motions like he always did.
“Speak for yourself.” Noel was on the phone so she just smiled and waved me off and I had expected Dwayne to just ignore me, but he actually walked up to me, albeit with his head down. Then he grabbed my arm, book tucked against his chest, and whispered in my ear.
“The secrets of this earth are not for all men to see, but only for those who will seek them.” Furrowing my brow, I looked over at him in confusion and he nodded his head, still not looking directly at me.
“Ayn Rand’s Anthem. Page fifty-two.” Then he walked away, still nodding. Blinking a few times, I brushed it off and then grabbed my bags, hugging Liliana once more, assuring her she was a beautiful crier, and then walked out those front doors into the sunshine. And I didn’t know where to go. I had only been in there for twenty days, but it hadn’t fixed my sense of unbelonging. Why was I surprised?
Slowly, I made my way back to my apartment and was greeted by the soft music of my Spotify playlist I had assembled to keep quiet company for my chameleon, Alfredo. Thankfully, I had a neighbor who loved helping out with him, and Alfredo loved to be left to his own devices. I walked by his vivarium and one of his eyes slowly moved to study me. I offered an excited smile, but Alfredo simply blinked and then began walking with his sloth-like movements to hide amongst his leaves. Sighing, I threw in some crickets for him, and then cocooned into my blankets, watching the light show of shadows on my bedroom wall. Something about what Dwayne had said kept coming to mind. Maybe he meant I was “this earth?” In the shadows on the ceiling, I could see my body transforming, becoming a safeguard for what and who I was. Nothing the doc ever did worked because she didn’t deserve to know any deep part of me. Not yet, not until I got my closure. I would be stronger before I told my story and there was only one way to do that. Dwayne had known, he had seen me. My heart began to flicker as tears gushed from my eyes without my control. Who would’ve known that the person I thought was paying the least amount of attention understood me the most? The moonlight settled into my windowsill, its light staying steady on my face, illuminating me. All I remembered was the way the moonlight hit the ceiling that night, the way it made the shadows play over the walls and dance over our blankets, as if these shadows were my own personal demons who instead of being chased away by my blankets felt welcomed into my bed and vibrated with the pleasure of rolling around in the agony I felt when my skin hit the sheets from then on. Dwayne knew I needed to face my pain, teeth bared and vocal cords raw. The nonconsensual wave of emotion continued for only Alfredo knows how long. But when it rolled back, I stared at the moonlight’s parting graces on my ceiling, determined on what I had to do now.
The bus moved my body in time with both my neighbors, our torsos swaying four counts for each street lamp that flashed by. My heart was beating a million beats between them. Even in the dreamlike, slow movements I was watching the world around me in, nothing was clear. People’s faces were simply pools of sinking color, lights were zig zagging strands tying me tighter against my seat. Yet I still managed to keep an accurate count of the number of stops we made. Maybe it was accurate. Two more before I got off. That’s what my mind kept repeating. Three more before I got off. A blast of the night air hit me like the sound of freshly made ice cubes against new glass, and I closed my eyes to focus on that stabilizing sensation. The dizziness I was feeling began to fade as a disk of coolness spread over my scalp from where it was pressed into the glass. My thoughts were jumbled before, but something about the sudden briskness around me coaxed out older memories. Isabella and I on the porch, in the bleeding dusk and laughing, when her hands had been gentle. The nights of homemade dinners, or when we had really drunk takeout. A part of me ached for those long, slow kisses on the carpet, her hair a mess and shuttering her eyes, but the part of me that operated at the forefront now only remembered the laughter leaving her eyes. Watching her mouth tear into screams and moans that sounded like the ones repeated in ghost stories when I recalled it in my memory.
At some point, I realized I was walking now. To where I was still unsure. Then I saw it. The house was exactly the same, except it didn’t belong to “us” now, it belonged to “them.” I didn’t think the same things would be special for them, but I guess a last betrayal would be no surprise. Through the blanket of night I could still clearly imagine Isabella and Replacement Girlfriend sitting out on the porch swing, the heat of her palm against her cheek. Maybe they drank wine and made stupid jokes in moonlight of sliding back door. I could feel their lips coming together as if it were my own touching hers, except it felt wrong, but it would feel wrong if Isabella were kissing me too and I ground my teeth together in frustration. Rubbing my forehead, I looked both ways before crossing the street, moving past the open gate into the small backyard they shared with their neighbors. The billowy leaves of a large maple broke up the moonlight over my face, the scattering of light questioning me on my motives. But still I focused, remembering Isabella never locked the sliding back door unless reminded. I hoped she hadn’t been reminded. When the gasp of the seal pulling apart sounded out, I took it as a sign in some dimension this was the right thing to do. However, a more rational part of me knew if someone else saw me they’d call the cops on me, so I only opened it enough to slid in and then quietly closed it again. My feet fell solidly onto new, tortilla-colored wooden floors and on instinct I slipped off my shoes, remembering how crazy it drove Isabella when I left them on. I didn’t spend much time poking around the house, I knew what I was here to do. My footsteps were light, but felt heavy as the silence created a pounding against my ears. Thwa-dump, tha-dump, twa-dump. A different sound each time, in tune with every connection of foot to floor, my eyes moving aimlessly until they trained on the door at the end of the hall. The bedroom. Where everything in our relationship had begun to go awry. When my palm wrapped around that doorknob, I half expected to be electrocuted, but it simply gave way, allowing me entry. Isabella and Replacement Girlfriend were sleeping like the dead, their hands encasing each other’s bodies, mouths inhaling and exhaling mere inches from each other. The only sign they were alive was the steady rise and fall of their chests. This was all I ever wanted with her. A connection, affection, but I found out her love came with conditions. At some point, I found myself tapping her shoulder, watching her eyes and hoping to see them sparkle when they twisted onto me. I hoped, but it was a stretch. Isabella’s eyes blinked open and her brow furrowed as she adjusted to the miniscule light before she lifted herself up and finally turned to me. Her expression fell.
“Bree?” I offered a half-hearted smile before it faded and I shuffled on my feet.
“Yeah.” Her tone suddenly grew concerned, but not for me. It was almost as if she were afraid.
“What are you doing here? How did you get in? I thought you were in a crazy hospital? Did you escape?” I tuned out her hurtful words as she continued, my eyes glazing over. I stared over at Replacement Girlfriend. She didn’t look so different from me. What made her so much more worth Isabella’s time and affection? It wasn’t my fault I was made the way I was. Everything was suddenly swelling up inside of me and I could feel my stomach twisting inside of me, not with dread, but with pent up rage and the need to scream. Isabella was still talking, but all I heard was radio silence. As I leaned against her bedroom wall, I spoke up softly at first.
“I didn’t want to.” Confused, Isabella sat up and looked at me and laughed sardonically. Speaking softly so as not to wake Replacement Girlfriend.
“What are you talking about?
“Sex. I didn’t want to have sex with you. I don’t want to have sex with anyone ever.” Isabella rolled her eyes and grabbed her robe, standing up and encasing herself within it, as if it were a shield.
“You’re still on that, everyone has sex Bree. Come on, let’s get you back to the hospital.” She moved to grab my arm and I jerked it away, glaring back at her, my eyes defiant and my voice rising to match.
“I don’t. I never want to. Sex is more than just a step in relationships Isabella. For some people it’s hell. As a lesbian, imagine having to have sex with a man the rest of your life Isabella, that’s how I feel about sex period. But you pushed me, you made me feel guilty, as if I was depriving you of some basic human right, and then you left me because I wasn’t torturing myself for you good enough.” Isabella kept glancing back at Replacement Girlfriend, an uncomfortable look on her face.
“Look, I didn’t know it was like that, please can you keep your voice down?” I scoffed, walking towards Isabella so she sat down on the bedside and screamed at her, ignoring the fact that Replacement Girlfriend was now wide awake.
“I have kept my voice down for years! People have told me I should’ve just sucked it up, that sex isn’t that bad, especially with another girl, and at least it wasn’t really rape. Real fucking rape. I am a homoromantic asexual dammit! But if asexuals really want a relationship, we’ve gotta be willing to put out, at the sake of our fucking minds. Because that’s the price of love, your pussy on a platter, am I right?” Replacement Girlfriend put her hand on Isabella’s shoulder and opened her mouth to speak, but I laughed humorlessly and pointed at her, “Don’t you say a fucking word, this isn’t about you, okay?” She gave Isabella a meaningful look and she nodded, but I didn’t care. We used to do that. We used to share something more than pain. I scarcely noticed Replacement Girlfriend leave the room after that, not that I actually cared about her. It was Isabella who needed to hear what I had to say and she was listening with wide-eyes for the first time.
“I just wanted you to love me for me, to want to kiss me and not to think that meant I wanted more. I just wanted to love you the way I love, but it wasn’t enough for you. It never was. It’s stupid to think that it would be.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re only saying that because you can’t ignore me now. You can’t put aside what you did, but it’s okay I’m not going to do anything about it legally because I let you think it was okay. It wasn’t okay by any means, but this is just a part of my therapy.” Isabella blinked in bafflement, and I smirked, leaning back against the wall just as police sirens began to whoop outside the house, the blue and red masking Isabella’s face. Her chest was heaving and her breath was short. Shaking my head, I replied levelly.
“Your new girlfriend is a total narc bitch.”
I figured this is how it would happen. I sat in the back of the police cruiser with the handcuffs on loosely. More of a formality and a comfort for Isabella and Replacement Girl I’m sure. The buildings and street lamps were passing by slower and smoother now. My head was light as if I had gotten several inches of my hair chopped off. Disorienting, but not in a bad way. The police officer who cuffed me told me they were informed I was recently released from a psychiatric hospital on the 9-1-1 call, so that’s where they were going to take me instead of processing me into jail. Isabella told them not to press charges, I could see it in the way she wouldn’t look at me after the police entered. They had surrounded me and pressed me into the wall even though I didn’t put up a fight, but Isabella turned her face away and stared at the carpet as if it would explain how we got here, her arms glued to her knees like she did when she was uncomfortable. Replacement Girlfriend yelled something and moved to Isabella’s side, but I wasn’t listening. I was ready to go and let the officers lead me out. No matter what any of us wanted, I would always know her better. I would remember everything. In the cruiser, I asked the officer if he would call my neighbor and ask him to take care of Alfredo while I was gone. However long that may be. They would probably keep me longer than 21 days this time. I’m sure Alfredo wouldn’t miss me anyways. It wasn’t a long drive to the hospital. It looked very much the same in the night, clean cut and unwelcoming, but there were lit up windows that suggested maybe there was life dwelling within. The officer un-handcuffed me and guided me up the steps and towards the check-in desk, speaking to the receptionist politely. As if they had smelled me upon arrival, Liliana and Dwayne popped out of a room, not yet noticing me. Liliana was talking quickly as she did and Dwayne was staring off towards the ceiling, but I’m sure he was listening as he nodded faithfully and tapped his fingers against the spine of his book.
“Guys!” They turned, Liliana looking directly as me with a welcoming smile and a wave before running at me, and Dwayne, nodded with a crooked smile before turning around. Liliana threw her arms around me and I giggled uncontrollably along with her.
“Sista, what you be doing back here? You too lolo for the outside?” I nodded and was about to explain when the doc began walking towards me, confusion over her face. The sound of her heels echoed through the halls. Click, click, click, clack! The last step was noticeably off as she stepped back and chuckled, picking up a shiny quarter.
“Oh, stepped on a quarter.” Liliana snatched the quarter from the doc’s fingers and made her way to the activity room, the two of us in tow. Doc reassured the officer that I was good to go with Liliana, and then she followed behind us, that soft professional voice of hers breaking the air.
“Bree, you do realize you’re going to be admitted again tonight?” I nodded, the pressure of Liliana’s arm hooked around mine causing warmth to radiate through my skin, we stopped at the rundown jukebox, its colors vibrant for another time. The doc stood with her hands folded as Liliana flipped through the song selections and I stared back, the defiance in my blood tucked in until some other day. But that didn’t stop me from noticing that conventionally pretty smile of hers. Somewhere I’m sure there was a better version of it.
“Yes, Doc. You gonna send for my clothes?” The doc smirked and zeroed her eyes in on me tighter.
“Why did you go to Isabella’s tonight?” I laughed and sat back, kicking my feet up.
“So I could come back and see you Doc.” She smiled knowingly, her eyes drifting to Liliana just as she slipped the quarter into the jukebox.
“This sista and I gots to talk story. She missed choke gossip.” Then the music started, the notes ringing clearly through my ears and I smiled as Liliana pulled me up to dance, her smile the starlight of the night.