Doorframes

She’s in my room again, leaning against the blue doorframe, trying to get a fix on me with her eyes as though I were miles away out at sea. I can smell the goon she’s been drinking from across the room. It smells like vodka and kool-aid. She always smells like this when she comes over. With a brief hesitation she wobbles her way over my floor, next to me on the bed.

“Whatr you doon?” she says.
“This isn’t the best time for you to be here,” I tell her, “ I’m busy.” She doesn’t notice my get-out-of-here-drunk-bitch face.
“Are you writin?” she asks while watching me type at my desk.
“mmhmm,” I mumble.
“I think that’s sexy. I think you’re sexy.” She tells me in a baby voice.
It’s a voice she’s recently adopted around me. She thinks I think it’s cute.
“Whatr you doon?” she asks again, watching me type.
“I’m really busy right now actua...”
“hehehe,” she giggles like a baby and raises her arms over her head like a ballet dancer in a drunken pirouette, falling onto my back. She kisses my neck.
“Do you want to have sex with me?” she asks.
I turn, look deeply into her eyes and tell her “No.”
She stares back for a moment. “Good. That’s good,” she says, falling onto her back.
I continue writing.

I know she’s not sleeping, but she thinks she’s fooled me. She’s even snoring. Every now and then she moans. I continue writing at my desk. When she leaves she slams the door.

She is stumbling out through the living room, out the door, into the dark, and down the sidewalk that winds across the apartments, eventually finding her way to the apartment next to mine. She opens the door and leans against his doorframe. He welcomes her into his bed. She begins to cry.

“What’s wrong?” he will ask her, mustering his most sympathetic voice.
And she will tell him.
She will tell him that tonight, while she slept, I crept into her room, slid open the door and closed it ever so quietly behind me. I slowly tip-toed to her bedside, slipping the sheets down over her body, and lifting her shirt. I raped her tonight she will tell him. I raped her even though she trusted me.

He won’t believe her. No one ever believes her. But he will accept her writhing body for the evening, and tomorrow or the next night she will be back, leaning against my doorframe, staring at me deeply, with fearful and desperate eyes.