The Best I've Ever Known
01.
She twirls that ring around her finger. Another cigarette dangles from his mouth as he mouths God knows what to himself. She keeps staring at him twirling that ring around her finger. She likes the ring, it’s pretty. It makes her happy; he makes her happy.
She stands on her feet and feels dizzy from the sudden rush of blood to her head. He is still deep in his thoughts, and she doesn’t want to disturb him. Instead, she softly walks to him, plants tiny kiss on the tip of his earlobe and walks away. The ashes fall from his cigarette as he lifts his head to look at her walking to the kitchen.
The coffee in the pot is cold, but she feels rather lazy to make another one; so she just adds milk to the cup. The dog tugs at the seam of her jeans asking for food. He walks in, takes the dog in his arms and kisses the top of its head.
“It’s raining,” he states. She has her eyes on him as he fills the bowl with dog food and places it down. Silently, they both watch as another dog approaches the bowl.
“I hope it doesn’t rain for long,” she restarts’ the conversation as she takes another sip of her coffee, “I have to get up early and I don’t feel like carrying an umbrella with me.”
He nods and goes back to the living room, lights up another cigarette and continues to mumble incoherent words to himself.
In the morning, while he’s still sleeping, she gets up, kisses his cheek and leaves a little note on her pillow. He smiles at her horrible handwriting when he wakes up and makes the bed; drinks the rest of the coffee and grabs a bowl of cereal. He’ll feed the dogs later, he thinks. The phone vibrates. It’s a picture of one of those guys on the streets with signs. It’s from her, with some witty message underneath it. He replies about her horrible handwriting.
The house reeks of cigarettes, so he moves to the bedroom. He gets tired as he waits for her to get back and falls asleep. Later on, the dogs climb to the bed with him. When she gets back it’s already afternoon. She picks up the empty bowl from the living room, washes the dogs’ bowls, lights up a cigarette as well and makes a comment about how much he smokes.
Nevertheless, she crawls to the bed and nuzzles her head to the crook of his neck as he momentarily wraps his arm around her.
And they sleep until the next morning, or until Spencer storms through the front door like he owns the world.
She stands on her feet and feels dizzy from the sudden rush of blood to her head. He is still deep in his thoughts, and she doesn’t want to disturb him. Instead, she softly walks to him, plants tiny kiss on the tip of his earlobe and walks away. The ashes fall from his cigarette as he lifts his head to look at her walking to the kitchen.
The coffee in the pot is cold, but she feels rather lazy to make another one; so she just adds milk to the cup. The dog tugs at the seam of her jeans asking for food. He walks in, takes the dog in his arms and kisses the top of its head.
“It’s raining,” he states. She has her eyes on him as he fills the bowl with dog food and places it down. Silently, they both watch as another dog approaches the bowl.
“I hope it doesn’t rain for long,” she restarts’ the conversation as she takes another sip of her coffee, “I have to get up early and I don’t feel like carrying an umbrella with me.”
He nods and goes back to the living room, lights up another cigarette and continues to mumble incoherent words to himself.
In the morning, while he’s still sleeping, she gets up, kisses his cheek and leaves a little note on her pillow. He smiles at her horrible handwriting when he wakes up and makes the bed; drinks the rest of the coffee and grabs a bowl of cereal. He’ll feed the dogs later, he thinks. The phone vibrates. It’s a picture of one of those guys on the streets with signs. It’s from her, with some witty message underneath it. He replies about her horrible handwriting.
The house reeks of cigarettes, so he moves to the bedroom. He gets tired as he waits for her to get back and falls asleep. Later on, the dogs climb to the bed with him. When she gets back it’s already afternoon. She picks up the empty bowl from the living room, washes the dogs’ bowls, lights up a cigarette as well and makes a comment about how much he smokes.
Nevertheless, she crawls to the bed and nuzzles her head to the crook of his neck as he momentarily wraps his arm around her.
And they sleep until the next morning, or until Spencer storms through the front door like he owns the world.