Pallid

She sat on me, hair hanging and tickling my face as she looked down at me. Her makeup was smudged. She was bruised. The strap on her shirt was slipping down her shoulder. She was cold. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but she was barely an A-cup, so she said it didn’t make much sense. She wasn’t really wearing any pants either, just these lacy panties (she always wore lace). Her knees pressed into my ribcage.

She wasn’t one for softness or niceties.

There were marks on her neck that weren’t mine, and it made me jealous. Her soft hands were on either side of my head, pressing into the bare mattress.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Thinking about me?”

“Celeste, I really—” Her knees pressed in harder as she leaned forward, nose brushing mine, lips hovering over mine. Her breathing was soft and hot as she peered at me, blue eyes narrowed.

“I bet you are.”

“I can’t—”

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” she murmured into my ear. “So spiritless.”

“’Leste, I can’t—”

“Breathe,” she finished, knees sliding off as they pressed into the mattress. “You should buy some new sheets while you’re at it, lover boy.”