Mick watched Beth take the steps; she left the room heavy headed and empty handed. What would Beth do when she made it to the hallway and realize she didn't have a stitch to put on? Mick eyed the slip of a black dress, remembering how well is covered and caressed her flesh he sighed as he stretched his legs out ahead of him. He clasped at the chair as if it were her limps, her warm torso. He waited for her realization, letting the time tick, tick, tick like a faulty faucet.
"Mick….." her single word held her embarrassment at what to wear home.
"There's a drawer with sweats, the top center drawer…take…..what…..you ….need" And his last four words were meant to mean so much more.
He felt her embarrassment and swallowed it, wishing it away for the both of them while he heard her pad into his bedroom. He felt her reticence to dig into "his" things; he felt her queasiness at the "morning after the night before". He heard the fine wood drawer slide at the pull of her gentle hand and he closed his eyes to visualize her hands on him, Beth's hands were fantasy to him.
Beth wore his clothes easily yet Mick snapped out of his daydream when he saw her tight fist grasping his dark shirt. Perhaps she had remembered how slowly he had dried her and reverently dressed her after he had held her writhing body to his in the shower. When would they be able to look each other in the eye?
Mick palmed his keys as Beth reverently laid his dress shirt over the back of the sofa. She mutely grabbed her black dress and rolled it into a ball; while she snatched the raincoat from the chair back Mick passed the sofa and hesitated to touch his shirt for a latent sense of her.
They rode the elevator down, each of them resilient in the electric air about them. From the corner of his eye Mick watched Beth peel at her lip with her teeth. She could do that so well without moving any other parts of her body, without her breath catching or even her eyes blinking.
Mick counted the marble squares beneath them, he realized at this moment he occupied just 4 squares on the right side and she balanced in two squares. What would bring their worlds to collide and combine? Each of their meetings tended to throw them together yet the problem's resolution left them in opposite corners, even when the trail led them to a carnally suitable horizontal surface.
Within the elevator's slow descent Mick debated if last night should have been the beginning of their forever and his heart's newsreel ran in his head. Mick had memorized the soft topography of her flesh as he felt her buttocks encased in black spandex grinding into his groin; he knew the drug had drawn her most base and carnal thoughts from deep within her, his were already skimming the surface of his undead flesh. He wrestled to stuff those points deep inside as they writhed under the beating raindrops in his shower.
What if his slow deliberate towel strokes had woken her, what if his arms around her shoulders to dress her had stirred her to wake? What if he had ceded to her demands?
Alone in that elevator they were colligated points, pixelated images on the canvas of reality, ultimately to be a masterpiece but now, no, it was too soon to look directly at each other.