Short Story

Red Pick by Kamila Kwasniewska

God… I hate this place. The disgusting humid feeling of sweat surrounded the room. I knew he was messy, but good God. Clothes thrown around the room not washed in only the devil himself knows how long, stinking old socks under the bed and Oh My… I don’t even want to know what else is there. I don’t belong here.

Feeling my own teeth sinking into my lip, ripping it causing a trace of blood to pull out of the cut, the steel taste of the pouring out liquid filled my mouth. – Great- I thought to myself.

I heard him come up the stairs. Heavy footsteps creaked against dried wood floor and old yellowed wallpaper.

Cigs… the first thought that took its place in my head. As soon he stepped into the room the horrible choking stench of cigarette buds hit you square in the face, almost knocking you out right there and then.

He came into my slightly blurry vision. My eyes still red not being able to adapt to the surrounding were screaming in agony. I will get there… eventually – My own voice mocked me in my head. Not having the time to start a pathetic argument with my-annoying-self, I took in his appearance. Standing there was Greek God. I could almost feel his muscles flexing, moving under the textured skin with my eyes… If that was possible. – Oh, what did I get myself into – whispering I dug my blunt nails into the old washed-away fabric that was covering my legs. He flung himself onto the bed I was currently sitting on. With no care in the world, he stared at me; I can just imagine myself, looking like a deer that was about to get hit by the car. I mean… is it normal, to love someone who was there for you for most of your life? Someone who knows everything about you, every little secret… Everything. The embarrassing things, even know that you have a damn mole on your butt.

But then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A guitar pick. The same one I had hung around my neck when I was 15, I watched him as he put his own on a string and copied me. My hand went straight to my neck. I let out a shaky breath, relief. It was still there. The same red piece of plastic, on the same string. He was the same, simple thing gave me the feeling of ease. I knew I was worrying for nothing. He was there for me and I was there for him.

Small gesture yet made my heart flutter. But why now. Why did he do it now… not back when we first got them. – Oh… here we go again – Rolling eyes at myself I pushed away from the cluster-fuck in my head.

His arm wrapped around me. I felt my body give up and give in letting him do whatever he pleased. I trusted him with my life, yet I was still afraid. Groaning annoyed at myself I moved up, crushing my body against his, sighing sadly I inhaled his smell, the horrendous fags, his woody smell and candy. I knew I belong here, with him, in his arms in his smelly excuse of a clean room.


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