Kink by Steve Thomas

Author:Steve Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub

3

THE CIRCLE IN THE FIRE

DARK now, and still moving, hands in pockets; walking home.

In a kind of ether lightness, inside and out: streetlights, headlights, hurry around me as I moved through crowds but not of them, waiting at a corner for traffic to clear, dart and stride and a warmth at my chest, heat but not from walking, hands in pockets and the closer I got the more I felt it, rising tide of, what? Pleasure, peace? No: relief, a stronger word for a stronger feeling, the feeling of knowing that a step would be taken, something done to make it all stop; that no matter what else might happen, what sorrows or unguessed pains, this at least did not have to go on.

Dark rooms and empty, neither of them home—and remembering: Lena made reservations, some Sicilian restaurant and there the tabletop note but better not to go, not to join them, better to sit here alone and wait. Making coffee, not a drink, dark sweet coffee and thoughts in slow exhausted circles, thinking of what I would say when they came home; what would I say?

I want you.

Go away.

See Sophie’s hat forgotten on the counter, magazines and mail, curled lists in Sophie’s handwriting and past that crust of thin relief the pain unseen below, black water and what would I say? I’m sorry, Sophie, it just isn’t working; sorry, sorry but—and the sheer alien taste of those words, how possible that I could even think this, surrounded by her artifacts, domestic detritus of this life, our life made and shared? How could I just not want her anymore?

Head down, small cough of steam from the coffee maker and like vertigo the sickening reverse, the feel of being against Sophie, of loving someone more than her, desire at her direct expense; and masked then by the Janus face of grief, how can that be, how can that ever be? Sophie my first darling, first friend and best and the key in the lock, opening door: which one? and half-rising, trying to be ready but it was Lena, Lena alone, Lena who without a word, gloveless hands outstretched came straight to me, arms around me there in the chair, my head pressed to her breast, cold wool coat and buttons like bones and “Jess,” less breath than a whisper, “Jess, Jess,” to hold me tight then pull gently away, hallway sounds and now Sophie, red eyes and stiff fingers to yank at her boots, nothing said to me or to Lena and off into the shower, a long shower, water like a voice in a language I did not speak and no one spoke, a pall of silence as if someone had died, as if something had happened past all power of speech to change: and like clockwork we three to bed, Lena and Sophie and me all bundled together, Sophie like a stone between, a wall, stiff and naked and I lay on my side staring at nothing, at the

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