CHAPTER EIGHT
Nocturnal people shifted between one socially acceptable hub to the next. Their horny footsteps banged against the pavements as they stared at their own sexual snaps in the reflection of shop fronts. I’m edible they said to themselves as they guided their hands over their hips and shoulders as if they were a horde of sexually aroused rabbits. Raw legs pranced around the empty streets cocked like attractive rainbow feathers. It was all very erotic stuff, bought straight from your nearest farmer’s sex shop.
The trees and sprouts of life tired themselves out from the thrashing of the rain. Because of this they all lay dead spread across Mr Black’s dark plate. The only interaction they had was a short tango with the wind. It made the plants look demented, flying from side to side without any apparent third party.
It was Kevin’s favourite thing about the night, the eventual strong arm of the wind forcing his hard work to come alive. He spent that night perched on the seat of his open front door. His arms wrapped around himself to protect his chest from the unknowns of the night. Only he knew what boxed memory he guarded between his ribs.
His left arm snaked up around his chest until he started to message his own neck. He felt the muscles, shifting and turning them over on each other like a bag of pasta. Turmoil erupted itself in front of him as the theatre of wildlife outside danced as if under the influence. Glorious stuff. But that night, that night he didn’t notice much of it. Staring at something else that danced in front of his eyes he leaned on his spine and fondled his hair by the front door.
With the city impatiently plucking its own forearm hairs it waited for the day to once more give it purpose. It didn’t care about Mathew, it didn’t even know about Kevin and Susan appeared as a broken speck of dust on its concrete coat. With half of its arm now red raw from the plucked hair, the sun came just in time before the city teared up from the self-inflicted pain.
Rays of sun from the windows entirely surpassed Susan as she lay cryogenically on the bed. She was covered by the shadow of the wall behind her, which was good because she always hated waking up with the piercing sun. It always cut her morning bed stretch down short. Her gasping legs and arms escaped from the blanket, trying to cool themselves down from the rest of her overworked and overheated body. The faint imprint of her wild dreams remained on the inside of her eyelids. Whenever she would look at them, they would shift right out of sight. She couldn’t look at them straight on which woke her to frustration. Her body was overclocked desperately grabbing for some more ram. The sweat from her armpits dripped through her top, making her feel uncomfortably restricted.
Pulling whatever was left of the fresh air in the room she got up and stretched herself. With the memories of yesterday wiped from her hard drive she tried to pull her limbs away from herself as far as possible. She could feel her skin turning and tearing. She ran her fingers through her scalp unintentionally grabbing onto small clumps of grease bound hair. The relaxing touch of her stretch was immediately undermined by the feel of her dirty head fur. She walked up to the mirror right of the bed. Its frame was decorated with her own boredom, dressed with marked sketches and reflective doodles.
Susan for the first time in what felt like a decade actually looked at herself in the mirror. She just hated the look of her constantly wet black hair drooped over her shoulder. Throwing a few strands behind her shoulder she ran her left hand over her chest feeling the grooves that joined to her neck. She loved her small shoulders, her solid and round nose, her untainted and innocent skin and her protruding ears. She liked to think she knew what her thighs were, what they had and what they wanted. The mirror once more reassured her of her own orgasmic desires forcing a rare smile of confidence across her face.
The hum of the fridge tried to communicate the interpretive carbohydrate dance to Susan. Luckily enough for the fridge’s contents, she was suffering from a lack of nutrition from yesterday. It was a marriage made in heaven when Susan proposed to the fridge. Taking out a few slices of plastic packed Edam and a coffin of old butter, she made a sandwich that barely even deserved the classification.
Stomach full and her day empty she sat like a sideways L on the couch. Her ass was directly on the face of the faced stain. Not bothered to turn on the TV she just turned her neck around the room picking up on anything new that had changed in her cave. The house never really lived much on its own without Susan being present.
The simple contact she had with her knees made her feel safe. All in all it was a very quiet orchestra that played in her flat. Looking to her left she saw her boots collapsed in a coma on the carpet. Her left boot was lying horizontally spreading its half open laces across the hills of the floor. Susan entirely ignored her right boot, it looked as if it didn’t need help, for the time being anyways. Her left boot on the other hand pointed with its leathered index finger to Mathew, specifically to the note that he had left. She pondered about it for a moment, trying to visualise the crumples and creases in the paper. With it framed perfectly in her head she thought about going to meet him. Where does he want me to meet him? Will it be too soon to meet him? Should I wait until tomorrow to go there?
As she threw those thoughts from one end of her skull to the next, her eyes slept for a finger full of hours. She didn’t notice that she had slept, she hadn’t even felt the usual crawl over her face. The only thing that gave her an indication was the shift in shadows on the coffee table in front of her.
The day had now taken a yellow tint, signalling the peak of the day for most people. A red crease had pressed itself into the canvas of her palm as she removed her hand from between her thighs. She felt like a slob, like a bottle of cheap men’s deodorant and she loved it. But she didn’t want to spend the rest of the day locked in a repugnant bottle so she peeled her sweaty skin from the couch and pulled herself into the shower.
With her hair clean and her filthy layer of skin ripped off by cheap shower gel she pulled a pair of dark jeans over her hips. It had a few holes but she always told herself they added to the character of the fabric. She Knew it was bullshit really but that’s how she justified not having to pay for a new pair of jeans. With an ocean blue woolly cardigan covering her top she walked out to retrieve her boots from their habitat. When she slipped them on she felt the slightest bit of dampness. She guessed it was sweaty from last night. So without the need to confirm, she sprayed the inside of her boots with deodorant. They weren’t happy.
She picked up her small purse and checked the note that Mathew had left behind. As she looked at the address she realised what she was actually getting herself into. Having just met this man, that she didn’t even know the last name of, she was going to go meet him at a location that he decided, without any form of contact. She could fit her entire fore arm into the gaps of logic, but she had nothing productive to do that day. He somehow dug into her and it was a relatively new feeling for her. Indulging in it was one thing but she also knew to be careful.
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