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I feel a bit pathetic, to tell you the truth. The first thing I've done when the sun's come up is gone over to Audrey's place for help. It's not till halfway through our front-door conversation that I realize how badly I'm shaking. The sun warms me, but my skin is trying to shake itself from me. It wrestles with my flesh.
Can I come in? I wonder, but my answer arrives within a few edgy moments when that guy from work enters the background, asking, "Who is it, darlin'?"
"Oh." Audrey shuffles.
Uncomfortable.
Then offhand.
"Oh, it's just Ed."
Just Ed.
"Anyway, I'll see you soon...."
I begin walking backward, waiting.
For what?
For her.
But she doesn't come.
Finally, she takes a few steps out of the doorway and says, "Will you be home later, Ed?"
I continue backward. "I don't know." It's the truth. I don't know. My jeans feel a thousand years old as they wrap around my legs. Almost like a bluebottle. My shirt burns me cold. My jacket scrapes at my arms, my hair is frayed, and my eyes feel shot with blood. And still I don't know what day it is.
Just Ed.
I turn.
Just Ed walks on.
Just Ed walks fast.
He begins an attempt at a run.
But he trips.
He rips a foot into the earth and slips back to a walk, hearing her voice call out, coming closer.
"Ed?"
"Ed?!"
Just Ed turns back to listen to her.
"I'll come over later, right?"
He resigns, gives up.
"Okay," he admits. "See you then," and walks off. He has a vision of Audrey in the doorway: A too-big T-shirt used as pajamas. Beautiful, great morning hair. Handled hips. The wiry, sun-showered legs. Dry, sleep-covered lips. Teeth marks on her neck.
God, I could smell the sex on her.
And I wished with silent anguish that it was also on me.
Yet I can only smell dried blood and a sticky spilled drink on my jacket.
