A Change of Heart

3

Trent and I had been together for five years when he popped the question. We were in the ER and he got down to one knee and said, "Alice Rhodes, will you marry me?"

I should explain how we got there. As you know, the first time we had sex we'd found ourselves covered in cake. After we did it a second time, Trent got to his feet—trying not to slip—and took an apple from the kitchen. "I'm starving. Do you want one?" he said as he took a bite.

"No, thanks. I don't like apples." But I was starving. So I ran my finger from my belly button up to my breasts, scooping the cake, and licked it. I tasted sweat and metal, but at least the cake was delicious. So I crawled over to Trent's knees and began to lick the cake out of his thighs.

"But you do like cake," he said, finishing his apple. By that point, my tongue had already been through his scrotum and had now reached the tip of his penis. I felt him growing inside my mouth as my tongue collected all the cake—which was more delicious in this area.

"Who doesn't like cake?" I said. His left eye was twitching and his whole upper body was contorted but he was still intent on getting something from the cupboard. He didn't want his penis to slip out of my mouth, so he was moving the way you would if you had to get something out of your bag on a plane and the one sitting next to you was sleeping.

"It reeks in here," he said, having finally gotten a hold of a stuffed chameleon. He tapped on its head and air freshener sprayed out of its mouth. Then something else sprayed out in my mouth.

"Well, I should take a shower," I said as he pulled me back up. When I was to his height, I smelled the honey-scented air freshener. I found his gray eyes amid the cake, staring lovingly at me. I put my hands on his cheeks—they made a squishy sound—and kissed him with the last drop of passion I had left.

"You go ahead, I'll join you in a second," he said. When I went to the bathroom I wanted to pee, but I noticed there was a grass field inside the toilet. I scratched my head, only to realize I had cake in my hair. I turned on the shower, but only ice cubes came out of the faucet. Then I noticed it was set on cold water, so I turned it to hot and only steam came out this time.

"You want a drink?" Trent asked after our steamy shower. His little adorable cat, Prince, was running around the house, occasionally knocking things over. He told me he'd found him abandoned by a lake and decided to adopt him. Three months later Trent would find out that—though Prince looked like a cat—he was really a puma cub, and would be forced to release him into the wild. Trent was upset about losing Prince, but I was there for him, and he eventually got a new pet. But I'll talk about this later.

"No, thanks. I don't drink," I said, tossing the ball to Prince.

"Because you're not 21 yet?" he said in what I perceived as a mocking tone.

"No, because I don't like alcohol." Here we go, I thought, here come the what's and how's and why's I was so used to.

"Oh, okay," he simply said and made himself a drink. My eyes followed him as he moved around the house. The walls were black all over except for the ceiling, which was white. Some of the furniture—like shelves and countertop—was white but most of it was red. Two red leather couches facing the TV in the living room, a red coffee table, a red carpet. But in his room the walls were gray and everything else—including the bedsheets—was black. I remember thinking those colors made it seem like it was always night, but I guess I didn't mind since I spent most of my days in there, the next five years.

The first few weeks were about unraveling the mystery that was Trent, so I studied every inch of that house. In his room there was a shelf full of action figures all carefully placed around in poses, but I could only see their silhouettes in the darkness. So one day, as we happened to pass by his room, I asked him, "Are those your wrestling action figures?"