Hold Til Morning

The car door slammed. This sound was followed by immediate giggling and dogs barking. Ben thought the two sounded the same, like hyenas cackling together outside in the distant night.

                Unfortunately, none of these things were quite so distant. In bed, Ben turned over, he was considering feigning sleep. Ultimately deciding against it, he concluded that he didn’t care if she thought he had been home all night or not.

Soon keys would struggle in the lock. The snorting laughter laced with too much alcohol consumption would be mere feet from him. Invariably, thereafter she would share his bed.

Ben sighed as he heard the door finally push open with a heave. The car outside peeled away.

“HONEY, are you up?” her voice was dripping with feral sweetness. Then quick anger, “Why the FUCK didn’t you help me with the door?!” This gave way to incessant sniggering.

Ben listened from his bed as if he were a small child, fearing the arrival of the boogeyman, but knowing that arrival was imminent. The noises indicated something akin to night of the drunken dead. It sounded as though one heel was dragging on the tile as the other clicked unevenly. Then he listened as the shoes were flung against opposite walls of the living room. Her purse hit the floor with a thud that only hinted at the full artillery of supplies needed to get this woman through a night at the club.

The bedroom door was thrust open as if no one would be sleeping this time of night. Ben shut his eyes tight, hard, until it hurt. Then blinking he stared at the digital clock on his nightstand.

It was four-thirty in the morning, and Jen was making her grand entrance.

Part of Ben hated her. And somewhere, deep inside a catacomb of his mind that he wouldn’t admit to having, Ben knew Jen hated him as well.

The bars had been closed for over two hours. Ben knew even the regulars that hung out with staff would usually disperse by three…

An icy feeling of curiosity came over him. Ben wrestled it back down. It was an adversary he had battled before. The bedroom was now her stage, she was the sole performer. Waiting on an audience of one to take an interest.

Ben didn’t look up, yet he knew she was stripping off the dress she had left in hours before. He smelled the stale tang of cigarettes, knowing all the while she didn’t smoke anymore. Jen pulled back the covers, seemingly purring as she curled up against him.
                The parts of her not covered were cool. Coated with the sweat that only a night of drinking, dancing and partying can create. She reeked of a thousand strangers.

Jen caressed his shoulder. Her fingers trailing down his bicep, then to his hand, which she squeezed. Ben’s stomach turned. He rolled his eyes, but when he was through expressing that sentiment to the wall, Ben rolled to face her.

Don’t tell and I won’t ask. Ben commanded this, knowing that the words never went passed his lips, and they were together in the darkness. Jen couldn’t see or hear him, but she somehow knew.His imagination drew the details of her face; hair the color of a raven set against bright green eyes, the gentle curve of her cheeks, framing full straight lips that would never form more than a crooked smile.

“How was your evening?” Jen asked in a husky voice, made heavier from the night. Facing each other, the pair were not even inches apart. The scent of red bull wafted over Ben’s face.

“Fine, yours?”

“Fine.”

She leaned in for a kiss. Ben let it happen. Doing so was easier than dealing with the initial awkwardness, and not to mention the argument that would’ve followed. Jen slipped her tongue passed his teeth, searching for his. Ben tasted sour saliva, but only at first. A split second later, he had forgotten the whole lot of what the last ten minutes had brought. Everything that he had taken issue with. The rumors and fights, each shaky excuse, all that he had bitched at in his mind (this and every other time) fell away as her lips touched his. When she curled her fingers over his hair a chill shot down his spine at the same time his mind sparked.

Ben decided to wait. To inform her now would do neither of them any damn good. Jen deserved to process the fact that they were through while sober. Ben owed her that.

Squeakily, his mind warned, You’ve already waited too long!

Her hand, forceful and confident, slipped inside the waistband of his shorts.

No, he retorted, things would be better with the daylight.

Ben would hold until morning.