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Tess's Trifles

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Can we last through the winter?
The water's starting to freeze.
The only one who remembers
Taking the wrong step, falling in front of me.
This body's already aging.
These nights are already long.
And if I last through the winter,
I swear to you now, I won't call.

Congratulations, go home now.

Will we last through the winter?
Will we make it to see?
I never wanted a partner and I never loved you,
Now you are free to leave.
This heart is already frozen,
I can't remember the fall.
And if I last through the winter,
I swear to you now, I won't call.

Congratulations, go home now.

It's too late, it's too late, they won't let go.
Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door.
It's too late, it's too late, they won't let go.
Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door.

It must be buried under the heart
That makes this pace consistent.
You'll find it torn, that gate's been opened?
I've been wondering if you've been real with us.

It's too late
It's too late, it's too late, they won't let go.
Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door.
It's too late, it's too late, they won't let go.
Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door.

It's start, stop and go you've been dying for, you've been dying for.

[x]
 
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Copper Cables

We're going to be late, I just know it. I wish I was writing this about summer. I could pretend I'm writing it about summer, with the cool light at four in the afternoon and lilacs outside the window. I could pretend that it's a summer dress with naked skin underneath and that the heat of your hands presses through the material like clay. But it's not, it's cold. The light in the afternoon is dark and fading. The house is steamed through with the grunt of the furnace, the pressure of your hands fogs up the lacquered surface of my sweater buttons.

We're going to be late.

It's funny, how you come to these things. It's funny how we came here. It's too big, it's too much of a mess, I won't look at it now. Why do I want you in summer? Why is it harder in the winter with the glow of a lamp and the peeling of socks? Why do your teeth scrape on my skin harder than glass in this cold? This is the quiet time, my vulnerable time, the time where you scoop into my chest and pull out what you find. You don't let me look away from it, you never did. But it's a quiet surety, it's a fluid nod to one broken promise that you keep tracing. Is that what you'll think, in the dark, in the breathing against my ear and the thud of our hearts? Is that what you'll think when I can't take it - I can't take you in, can't stand the sight of the marrow of this, can't lay flushed and replete with the acceptance of my secrets - is this the bargain? Is this the trip-trapping of the secret life, the generosity of a lie that was less than a lie, was so long ago?

Is it?
Are we late?
Are you early?

I think of you like copper cables. I think of them pulling you, uprooted, then replaced. New core. I think of you, in a world that they never prepared you for, that you never thought you'd gain back.

You're never far from me, you say.
I know, you say.
My girl, you say.

There are worse things to think of than copper in winter.
 
Day Eighty-Six.

Cooking breakfast, windows are open, wearing a dress. How many times has it been like this? How many times has he come in, walked up, reached out a proprietary arm, wrapped it around my shoulders? He makes it a bulwark at my back and I’m leaning into his chest; it’s a slow inception. His hair is cut. It’s short now. He sweeps it back over the top of his head with shaved sides. His beard is long. He wears fancy plugs now, for when he goes to sleep in her bed. I never thought it would be like this – a sticky separation. He’s getting ready to leave, his arms are parting from me, and I think, are we getting used to this?

The bacon in the pan behind me pops and hisses, spraying out fat. I barely discern it, I know unequivocally that he’s going to lean down and kiss me. That I’m going to let him. That his tongue’s going to divide my lips, trace my mouth. He smells like cologne these days, almond oil, apple cider vinegar for his hair. He’s kissing me. I’m still letting him and my mouth is trembling, shaking so badly that I forget how we used to do this – as recognizable as the image of yourself in the mirror, gone after a handful of months. No, no no no –

Our mouths stop, interrupt, each of us questioning whether we’re taking this further. Where are we taking it? Where is it coming from? It’s a fucking madness in my head, it’s a perpetual reverberation throughout my ears. He puts his hand on my neck and backs me up against the counter, I can feel its curve bite into my back – it’s unforgiving. It should be. Think about it later.

“How far are we taking this?”

His hand comes up from where it digs into my thigh, seeking purchase through my dress. The slap is controlled and tight across my cheek, his fingers dwarf my skin. I could weep with the relief of it.

“Yes, Daddy.”

There’s a razor-sharp exhale from his throat that should be accusatory, instead conveys everything – regret, anger, wistfulness, longing, need. But his voice doesn’t change, it’s the same. Bedroom voices, ours are like knives of entreaty, but I’ve never heard it before. I hear it now.

“Say it again.”

I push against his hand at my jawline instead, wanting his fingers to dig into my skin. He keeps it an iron band, knowing me, knowing what’s inside – not an inch. He won’t give it to me until I give him what he’s asking for. The second slap is harsher than the first and the control slips, along with his teeth, into my mouth.

“Yeah, Daddy. Please.”

-----​

It’s only later, when I’m pulling the top of my dress over my breasts, that I feel the insanity of this slop over me like tar. I wipe the grease from the counter, realize the last four strips have burned. My neck aches from his bite, my legs are trembling from the intensity of cumming – how could I not? You missed my cock, baby? His belt buckle clinks behind me and I can feel his remorse.

“He’s a good man,” I manage.

“Yeah. He’s a good man. And he understands.”

But do I?
 
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