He lay in bed, pretending to sleep, as the morning light bled through the sheer window panels of their bedroom. Their bedroom.

She stood in front of the mirror, the skin of her pleasantly rounded hips peeking out from beneath a yellow towel. Her hair was wet and combed straight back. Without make-up, her face had a masculine quality to it that contrasted her curvaceous feminine body.

He took care in immitating the slow, even breathing of sleep. If she knew he was awake, she would apologize for making too much noise and finish her morning routine in the bathroom. She was considerate to a fault and this would never change.

After she had applied her foundation and powder, she leaned in close to the mirror. She would put on her liquid kohl eyeliner next, extending it past the outside corners of her eyes. No eyeshadow. Lots of mascara. Sometimes the eyeliner was uneven, but not today. He willed her hand to shake as she brushed it on so slowly and carefully, but it did not.

He would marry her in three weeks.

She moved to the closet, dropped her towel on the floor (where it would surely stay until tomorrow's shower), and sucked in her stomach. She touched it with her un-manicured nails, almost seductively. The motion changed to convey impatience and disgust before he had time to enjoy it. Her weight. Always an issue.

She chose her newest dress, still vivid in color, then opened a drawer to retrieve a matching set of underwear and bra, also new. There were no special occasions with her. Every new dress had to be worn at least once a week until it was faded or torn. Underwear was always fancy, coordinated, pristine.

He pictured her wearing her wedding dress to a cocktail party, explaining to everyone how it was so beautiful that she just had to wear it again. They would all laugh then praise her for her unique ideas and great sense of humor. He would play cards in the corner with another couple while she worked the room, stopping to kiss him or offer him another drink every twenty minutes.

Once dressed, she brushed through her thick hair a final time then reached for her perfume. She would spray her neck first, then her chest, then each wrist. The loyalty she showed to her preferred brand was infallible. It mirrored her loyalty to him.

He imagined her being without it for a week, then smelling her neck only to find that it was eminating from her pores and coursing through her bloodstream.

The alarm sounded its intrusive call and he stirred in bed. As he rolled over to shut it off, she said good morning to him and asked what he had dreamt the night before.

"I don't remember," he said, frowning. He never was a morning person.

And this would never change.

11/11/2005

Author's Note: I haven't checked this for spelling yet. I was in a hurry to post it at work. =) Will edit later & comments are VERY appreciated. I haven't written a short story in ages.

Posted on 11/11/2005
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