fiction #10

She slipped on last night’s shirt and sat upright, pulling the sheets closer as she did. She watched him walk naked to the bathroom, the cold morning air never affected him like it did her, and she remembered why mornings never suited her. The chill, the eerie spectral light, that earthy smell of rising dew, none of it sat well with her. The only sunrises she saw were from long, sleepless nights, and the first signs of daylight meant it was time for bed. He, on the other hand, loved mornings. The bathroom light flickered on, a yellow glow piercing the blue-lit room, and she could hear the hiss of the shower while he hummed a tune, oblivious to the world.

Last night had been one of his better performances, and she learned never to expect good sex after he’s had a few drinks. He was surprisingly alert, he even tried to pull all the same moves he used to when they first got together. It never worked the way it used to, but she wanted to play along to spare his feelings. She remembered how he struggled to put on the condom, hovering over it like a surgeon, she felt almost sorry for him. He wouldn’t have bothered with it if he’d known, but he probably wouldn’t have enjoyed the sex as much as he did, either. She’d know exactly how he would’ve handled it, the panic, the disbelief, he’d ask her to take the test, just to be sure. But she knew her body, and it didn’t take long for her to know that something was, different. She didn’t need to piss on a stick to tell her that. And she’d know exactly how he’d handle that news, the miracle that so many desperate women waited for. She’d know the look on his face, the mix of terror and nervous joy, a madman’s elation. He’d make promises she knew he could never keep. And that was why she would never bring herself to tell him.