Creative Nonfiction | Unused

creative nonfiction unused

THEN

I felt him tapping the tip of my fingers.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then nothing. He rested his fingers holding mine. My eyes were closed but I imagined him waiting for a movement with his eyes closed, too.

The room was still, dim only with sharp knives of light peering in through the window by the side of the bed. Sticky sweat running down under my neck. I didn’t move, didn’t want him to know I was awake all along.

Tap, tap, tap.

Stillness.

This time he did nudge, nudge, nudge, becoming heavier with each push. The weight of his hand pressing against my knee. He repeated – nudge, nudge, nudge – at least twice more.

I let out a moan.

Acted like I moaned.

“You gotta go,” his voice dry from the nap.

Of course.

“You said you gotta go.”

I flipped on the other side, my back against him.

A switch flicked and the florescent above came to life. I heard him moving around the room.

Damnit. I’m running out of time. I’m losing over the dare…

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