a c h e

t h r e e

I knew you were back once I felt rough hands wrap around my waist. I had barely gotten sleep once you left. I ate, read notes of a dirty old man by Charles Bukowski, and laid in bed. When I wasn't doing anything I was thinking about what you and her could have been doing.

You smelled of cold liquor and expired cigarettes. I pushed you away. You pulled me back in. I slumped in defeat.

"I love you Anna."

I froze. I pushed you away harshly.

"Go back to her! You always do!"

I felt you rumble with laughter from behind me.

"Exact opposite actually. I always come back to you," you chuckled, your words sounding muffled and dragged, showing your rather intoxicated state.

I laid there in silence. I turned on my back and stared at the ceiling.

"You need a shower," I mumbled.

You uttered incoherent words under your breath.

"Please?"

"Are you going to help me?"

"Yes," I answered quietly.

Slowly, I got up and helped you out of the bed. Taking short steps across the floor, we carried on into the attacked bathroom.

You sat on the seat of the toilet. Your shoulder were down, your head full of slick strands that clung to your forehead. I ripped the shower curtains to the side and twisted the knob to warm water. Twisting around, I beckoned you to stand up in front of me. Sucking in a breath, I lifted up your shirt. I could feel the heat of your eyes looking down on me. After I had gotten the shirt over your head I threw it to the floor and stepped back. You unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down with ease. I looked to the side. Once I heard you step into the shower and close the curtains I began to walk away, leaving you privacy.

"Lolita?" I heard you call out in a raspy tone.

I halted to a stop.

"Mhm?"

"Please come in," you begged.

No, don't do it Lolita.

I stood there in a trance, staring at the tiled flooring.

"I need you."

If he needed you he wouldn't be with her.

"Alright," I whispered. "Alright."

I walked closer to the shower and stripped off my oversized tee shirt, and then my undergarments. You pulled the shower curtain open again. I stepped in, trying hard not to look at you. I heard you reach for the bar of soap on the little shelf. I turned around and finally looked you in the eyes. I knew what you wanted me to do.

This is wrong.

This is wrong.

This is wrong.

You handed me the bar of soap. I began to help cleanse the stench of cold liquor and expired cigarettes off from your body. I didn't ask why you smelled that way. I didn't ask what she did or said to you again that made you come back. I never did. I didn't want to know.

You grabbed my wrist, causing me to stop my movements.

"Can I?" You gestured towards my own body.

Can he?

Should he?

No.

I nodded my head yes. You stared at me for a long moment and then started at my neck, down to my stomach, and then further.

Stop.

"I'm sorry," you broke the silence with the overused and meaningless phrase.

"No you're not," I whispered as you continues to wash my body with hands that I knew so well.

The silence was back.

Why can't I stop loving you?

Why don't I want to stop loving you?

You're nothing but a fool, but you were my first kiss, my first time, my first everything. And now, no matter how hard you try to scrub my body clean, you'll never be able to remove the burns of where your fingers touched my skin, and of where they touched my heart.