The Unworn

The clock ticked, leaves of Jacaranda rustled outside, and Todd took off his jeans. It was a dark time, reminiscent of a blown fuse, and quiet too; the Essential Stevie Wonder having scuttered past its last song ten minutes earlier. The jeans unworn, Todd lay back on the bed and felt Wendy's hand slide through his hair and down to his cheek.

"Smooth face, smooth face," she sung.

He hummed. "Long day," he said. "Stay in tomorrow."

She pulled all fingers away except for the one tip which trailed down to his chin and then up to his lip. He flinched.

"Sorry," she said.

"Do you ever wonder..."

"Huh?"

"How easily we might not be here. We might be somewhere else."

"Where would we be?"

"No, I mean," he trailed off. Wendy's hand slid through his hair. "You and me. We might be different places."

"We're not," she said.

"I'm glad we're not."

From his hair, Wendy's hand crept again across smooth cheek and, leaping neck, it tugged limp collar, then circled button idly. Todd sat up, unbuttoned, and lifted the shirt from his shoulders. He stayed stooped at the end of the bed as the clock ticked. The motley cotton pile of discarded clothes watched from beside his feet.

"Put some music back on?" he asked.

"It's nice quiet," said Wendy. She pulled up and hung herself across Todd's back, her knees sinking the mattress. Balm lips left shapes lingering across his neck as he craned and cracked it. "You need to relax."

"Just a long day," he said. "I could sleep."

"Then let's sleep," she said. "Go brush your teeth."

"Yeah."

The sink-tap ran and clean teeth were sucked at and shone to the mirror; weak eyes squinted in the bathroom light for a brief time, before the house was returned to its fuse-blown state. Other silences were had in the gaps between words as the space between people was filled under cover of warm sheet.