Sticks and Stones and Rising Voices
fifteen
"Champagne is for celebration. What am I supposed to be celebrating?" she asked.
"We are celebrating life, dear."
Ione snatched the bottle from my hand and popped the cork.
"Whose life?"
"The one you are lucky to have to share."
She pulled her knees to her chest and took a swig from the bottle. Her body fit on the sofa. She looked perfect. She was perfect. She is perfect. She wanted me to sit. She leaned into me.
"Life doesn't mean what it used to for me." she gulped.
"He is alive, yes?"
"Barely." she scoffed.
"He loves you, yes?"
"Too much." she mumbled.
She would worry too much. She would smoke too much. She would drink too much. She would hate herself. She would hurt herself. She was not well without him.
Half of the champagne was gone. She wrapped herself around my arm and her eyes lulled up to mine. Her breath was cool and her mouth was warm. Her teeth grazed mine and we parted.
"You talk too much." she said.
"We are celebrating life, dear."
Ione snatched the bottle from my hand and popped the cork.
"Whose life?"
"The one you are lucky to have to share."
She pulled her knees to her chest and took a swig from the bottle. Her body fit on the sofa. She looked perfect. She was perfect. She is perfect. She wanted me to sit. She leaned into me.
"Life doesn't mean what it used to for me." she gulped.
"He is alive, yes?"
"Barely." she scoffed.
"He loves you, yes?"
"Too much." she mumbled.
She would worry too much. She would smoke too much. She would drink too much. She would hate herself. She would hurt herself. She was not well without him.
Half of the champagne was gone. She wrapped herself around my arm and her eyes lulled up to mine. Her breath was cool and her mouth was warm. Her teeth grazed mine and we parted.
"You talk too much." she said.