It's surprising. I mean in the way that i wouldn't have expected puking tears from this, i wouldn't have expected to react to this particular death in such a heavy hearted, choking way. maybe it's because i would have never expected this death. maybe it's because we had unfinished business, he and i, only he never knew it.
He is the reason Third Bed exists in the way it does. Before he walked past me that night, i had only bare-bones on a post-it. Then he passed, on his supervisory rounds and all the pieces fell into place. i knew the story i wanted to tell, i knew the characters and i knew their love.
and i never got the courage to show him what i made from that little bit of nothing that he did for me... I never got to thank him, and in the end i never really got to know him...
" She was a sexual creature; she’d known that from early on and her life had progressed along a line she felt was true. Still, she had been astonished by her own primal reaction toward him that first time she’d seen him. No, ‘saw’ was not the right word; reaction to the sight of him hadn’t been what lit her up and made her take such immediate notice of him. She had breathed in the scent of him and known that she was lost.
She remembered the opulent, glittering ball, where they’d been introduced. She could hardly recall the face of the diplomat who’d purchased her services for a journey to the city by the sea. She had been out of her own element, beyond the lines of her comfort zone among the high-class wives who would have snubbed her in her own city. But her borders had never before broken from a little strain. She let herself be consumed by a persona she would normally only wear for a night. She’d lived it and breathed it for weeks without pause.
She had noticed him first while in conversation with one wife or another; he was nearby, speaking with her diplomat escort. Though they shared a brief glance, they were not introduced. Not out of rudeness, but due to no available opportunity before he was off to meet another guest. He passed quite close behind her as he moved away, putting a gentle hand to her elbow to warn her to not turn about suddenly. The touch was only one of a thousand jostles and embraces in the night. It meant little, but the air he’d stirred up around her was a different story. She was struck by the scent of him that lingered after he’d gone.
She followed him with her eyes as he crossed the room, unable to tear her attention away as the smell filled her, finding a home in her belly and roaring to be noticed. It was a roar she recognized from her long life of promiscuity, but she had never known it to be so astoundingly strong; so deafening, so undeniably true. She learned later it was no special soap or cologne, only the smell of his skin and hair and breath. It was him.
Eventually, he asked her to dance. She accepted him and they shared two dances that night. She didn’t know how she’d managed the steps, how she’d remembered to smile and laugh and seem pleasant while engulfed by his irresistible odor. She hadn’t even been sure if he understood how he was affecting her. But then when he left her for good that first night he’d whispered five words in her ear that both terrified and thrilled her.
“I know who you are.” "