Page 5 of Liquids

“Yes … yes … yes.”

He pushes in, hard, but I’m loose now, and the fill and the stretch draw the pleasure out like toffee. His hand presses me into him, grinding against me as his big body shakes, his cock pulsing.

“Jesus. Jesus … fuck.”

He smacks a hand into the kitchen cabinet above our heads and the whole wall vibrates, and for a beat I wonder if it’s going to come down on us, because this place is … yeah.

“Goddamn.” His exhale gusts across the top of my head.

I rub my nose against his furry chest. I can’t move. The hand that was rubbing me so well comes up and runs down my back. Once. Twice. And we sit, breathing in the smell of half-cooked bacon as the fridge clicks and hums beside us.

When he steps back and pulls out, cold creeps in. He peels off the condom and ties a knot in it, hitching up his jeans and fastening a few buttons. His hand lifts and slides around my neck, hazel eyes studying me.

“I’m gonna go shower. Finish the bacon, yeah? We’ll eat, and then I’ve got to go and deal with those assholes.”

And he leaves me on the counter, mouth agape, a warm lassitude spreading through my limbs. If I jump down, I don’t think my legs will hold me. I suck in a sharp breath and blink at the window opposite that looks out over the projects behind the lot. The pipes crank, and the sound of water hammers against the thin walls.

Whistling starts up, and singing. “Whoa-oh, sweet child o’ mine.”

A smile creeps across my face. Guns N’ Roses. Goddamn the man.

The bacon is congealing, so I shuffle my butt along the countertop, lean over to turn on a burner, and place the pan back on it. Bread and eggs are sitting on the side, so I ease myself down and stand and wobble for a couple of seconds, before retrieving my clothes from a heap in front of the cabinets and pulling them back on.

I’m cracking eggs into the oil when he appears again, jeans now fastened around his waist and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. My mouth dries at the thick corded arms and the curls all over his chest. No pretty boys smoothing out their image here.

I gesture at the battered table and the two chairs sitting against the wall. “Have a seat.”

He laughs, shooing me into a chair. “No way, babe, this is my gig.” And I’m only too glad to sit, because I’m still wiped out and shaky.

He flips the eggs, rescues some coffee from the percolator that I didn’t even notice he’d put on, and dumps a full mug in front of me along with sugar and a bottle of milk from the fridge. Where did that come from? Ah, yeah, I didn’t have bacon either.

“You went to the store.”

He grins. “It’s two steps around the building, and the cupboard was bare. Plenty of vodka, though.”

Heat creeps up my neck. He places two extra slices of bread on his plate as he puts the sandwiches together and sets one down in front of me, two on his plate. Half of one disappears in a bite.

“So Guns N’ Roses,” I say, biting into the warm toast and salty meat.

He laughs. “Whatever I heard on the radio yesterday, babe. No rhyme or reason.”

The other part of the sandwich disappears.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he says, as he chews.

I stare at him. He’s a one-night-stand guy, right? Why did he say that? Goddammit, hope is the last thing I need.

3

DISSOLVING

After he’s gone, I walk through to the bathroom and stand in the doorway, taking in the avocado-green shower stall and the ripped brown patterned linoleum on the floor. Rusty stains run down the basin from the tap to the drain. The wet shower curtain is pushed back to the end of the rail, and I step forward and slide my hand over the bottom of the once-white fabric. My palm comes away all yellow and green. Yum. Black mold is scattered across the whole stall, gathering in dark clumps at the edges. He just showered in here. Something hot and sharp burns through me. When did I start ignoring everything?

I can’t persuade Luis, the crook who owns this place, to do anything about the problems here, but I can goddamn clean. I find the Clorox in the back of a kitchen cabinet and spray the entire bathroom, then slap descaling gel on the faucets. I take down the shower curtain and stuff it in the washing machine. The dark mold on the stall starts to fade, and I’m suddenly grateful to whatever genius came up with cleaners that you spray on once and leave. I fetch a trash bag and gather up the empty pizza boxes and dirty plates, then collect the crumpled clothes for the next load. Unopened mail is spread across every surface, and I toss it all on the kitchen table.

I’ll be back tonight.

I strip my bed and pile up sheets, the comforter, and more clothes. Everything is getting washed. I’m lucky this place has a washer and a dryer and I don’t have to take it out. I vacuum and mop all the floors, attack the kitchen, then sit down and rip open all the letters before I can think twice about it.