Faces

Prompt: Integrate one of the languages of love into a story

‘I don’t like the winter days to be so short,’ she says.
We just woke up, the day just started but she’s already worried about the end of it. She has opened the curtains. Every form of intimacy will be a show now.
‘The winter exists for people who want to hide. It always takes me the whole day not to be one of them.’

I picked her up when flashing, colourful lights were dancing over her face. Now I only get to see her back as she sits in the window, naked.
‘Just come back to the bed. There will be more days.’
I see only her hair shake.
‘I’d rather stay here. Street people only see briefly. They can’t comprehend nakedness.’
I put the blankets further over myself.
‘I want to see your nudity.’
She sighs.
‘Yes, that’s the problem.’

There’s a knock on the window. I see her wave, followed by loud laughter.
‘Is this your kink?’ I ask her while I look around. Her walls are covered with paintings. Faces that seem to be melting, dripping into their backgrounds.
‘A kink? What’s a kink?’
She has a Pac Man clock that eats the minutes. It seems to synchronize with my heartbeat.
‘It’s when you get aroused by something specific.’
She stretches her back, lifts her hands way above her head.
‘Isn’t everything specific?’
‘Touche.’ I say as I step outside the bed and walk towards her. I let my finger run down her spine. No reaction. I just see quick glances being thrown inside from over her shoulder.
‘Well, okay then.’

I start to walk around, touch all the shapes and surfaces of the objects in her room.
‘And is this your…kink?’ she asks.
‘Is what?’
‘Going home with women you don’t know and touching all that’s there?’
I shrug.
‘I don’t know, it’s just something I enjoy.’
‘So not specific?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Hmm.’

I keep walking around until I stumble into a table. Masks are spread all over the surface. All with different shapes, different wrinkles, different surfaces. Some made of autumn leafs, some of frozen snowflakes and others of tulip seeds and plastic frudge glasses. There’s one in flickering colors.
‘You done?’
I nod.
‘Felt anything familiar?’
I shake my head.
‘Really?’
‘No.’
For a moment there’s just the ticking of the Pacman clock eating the day away.
‘Can we lay in the bed now, finally?’
‘How many women did you meet like this?’
I close my eyes for a second and then count the masks.
‘You finally got it?’
I nod. Then she turns around. Slowly she shows me the nothingness between her curls.

I look at the people walking by. Their quick glances, their short shrugs. The streetlights are turned on. I hate how short the winter days are. 


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