He slammed his cup down. Coffee splashed over the rim and puddled around the base. What on earth gave you the idea I want space? I want you here. With me. All the time. I want to come home and hear the shower running and get excited because I know you’re in it. I want to struggle every morning to get up and go to the gym because I hate the idea of leaving your warm body behind in bed. I want to hear a key turn in the lock and feel contented knowing you’re home. I don’t want fucking space, Harper. Harper laughed. What’s funny? I didn’t mean space. I meant space, like closet space, a drawer in the bedroom, part of the counter in the bathroom. Trent’s mouth twitched, a slight smile making its way to his lips. Like a compromise. A commitment that I want more. I seem to recall you telling me in the car about something being a step in the right direction to a goal we both agreed on. Well, I want all those things you just said, with you, eventually. And if we start to leave things at each other’s places, it’s a step, right? Trent reached up, flexing his delicious tattooed bicep and scratched the side of his head. Without speaking, he leapt to his feet, grabbing Harper and pulling her into a fireman’s lift. Trent, she squealed, kicking her feet to get free. What are you doing? He slapped her butt playfully and laughed as he carried her down the hallway. Reaching the bedroom, Trent threw her onto the bed. We’re doing space. Today, right now. He started pulling open his drawers, looking inside each one before pulling stuff out of the top drawer and dividing it between the others. Okay, this is for your underwear. I need to see bras, panties and whatever other girly shit you have in here before the end of the day. Like a panther on the prowl, Trent launched himself at the bed, grabbing her ankle and pulling her to the edge of the bed before sweeping her into his arms to walk to the bathroom. He perched her on the corner of the vanity, where his stuff was spread across the two sinks. Pick one. Pick one what? Sink. Which do you want? You’re giving me a whole sink? Wait … stop… Trent grabbed her and started tickling her. Harper didn’t recognize the girly giggles that escaped her. Pointing to the sink farthest away from the door, she watched as he pushed his toothbrush, toothpaste and styling products to the other side of the vanity. He did the same thing with the vanity drawers and created some space under the sink. I expect to see toothbrush, toothpaste, your shampoo and whatever it is that makes you smell like vanilla in here. You like the vanilla? It never ceased to surprise her, the details he remembered. Turning, he grabbed her cheeks in both hands and kissed her hard. He trailed kisses behind her ear and inhaled deeply before returning to face her. Absolutely. I fucking love vanilla, he murmured against her lips before kissing her again, softly this time. Oh and I’d better see a box of tampons too. Oh my goodness, you are beyond! Harper blushed furiously. I want you for so much more than just sex, Harper.
Scarlett Cole
As mãos de Zahara apertaram fortemente a saia. - Vais infligir-me a humilhação de ser eu a dizê-lo?Lochan levantou-se. - Jamais desejaria que te humilhasses. Eu sei, sei-o há já demasiado tempo.Zahara sentiu o coração pular. - Se o sabes, porque nunca… - Esquece-me, Zahara, pois não sinto o mesmo – interrompeu ele.Ela recuou. - Mentes… Porquê? Eu sei… O modo como me tratas, como me olhas. Eu sei que gostas de mim, vejo-o no teu olhar, vejo-o neste instante!Lochan sentiu os olhos dela mergulharem nos seus. - Durante anos foram-me apresentados pretendentes das mais nobres famílias – ouviu – Todos me dariam o conforto a que estava habituada, todos me cobririam de jóias, de vestidos luxuosos... no entanto, eu recusava-os. Recusava-os porque não via nada no seu olhar. Para eles, eu seria como um troféu, serviria apenas para provocar inveja.Uma nuvem cobriu o sol, deixando-os na sombra. - Inconscientemente tornei-me arrogante, altiva, somente para os afastar de mim, para que não desejassem casar-se com alguém como eu… Mas tu, tu viste para além da máscara que construí. Naquele dia, na capital, tu viste o que ninguém foi capaz de ver: o meu coração. - Zahara… - Não acredito que não sintas qualquer amor por mim.Lochan voltou-lhe as costas. - Não quero saber se és pobre, não me importo com o teu passado. O que sinto por ti é o que sempre desejei sentir – ouviu.O silêncio envolveu-os por momentos. - Lamento…Zahara correu para a frente dele. No seu olhar era visível desespero. - Não te agrado, é isso?Ele limitou-se a desviar o rosto. - Responde-me! - Como poderia ficar indiferente a alguém como tu – disse voltando a olhar nos olhos dela. - Então porquê, porquê?Lochan agarrou-lhe nos ombros, assustando-a. - Esquece-me por favor. Odeia-me. Odeia-me por isto com todas as tuas forças, mas não me ames, nunca me ames, Zahara.Lochan largou-lhe os ombros. Ela ficou sem reacção, e as lágrimas voltaram a molhar o seu rosto. - Não me faças isto… - implorou.O olhar dele tornou-se gélido. O seu rosto mostrava-se agora tão indecifrável, como o de uma estátua. - Odeia-me pelo sofrimento que te acabo de causar e depois esquece-me – disse deixando-a só.Zahara viu-o desaparecer por entre as colunas do palácio.
Susana Almeida
we are born into this world on the tailcoats of a scream. born into gritted teeth and a shock of red across the pristine. born into a solemn hush. are you evil? you, who tore into this world on a steed of crimson… are you a monster? we are born as angels, toothless, a mouth a gurgling brook. and as we grow, so do our wings, until we are high enough to see that our church is no more than a small forest and the altar a tree. are you a monster, angel with fangs? all teeth, thick with teeth, you can’t even close your mouth anymore. it rains and it’s like drowning. corn husk skin and we’re born again. into a time of being tied down, to a person, to a bed. a time of clipped wings. of holy cries out to a void. your wildness a convenience store in the desert, pale pink, dusty, arid. your wildness staring longingly at the screaming horizon and flicking another cigarette butt into the dirt, a lone oscillating fan its only company. we’re born into this concrete world, where sanctuary is to be alone or to pretend to like it. this world of broken bottles instead of leaf crunch. roadside motels proclaiming vacancies. inside and out. that pluck your heartstrings. a new church, a fresh sin. the altar now a white railing against a muted matte pink wall. you lean against it, hips jutted to the side. some of the eighties still lingers. you see a man in a leather jacket kissing a girl’s neck purple. he looks up. teeth are everywhere. hundreds of glistening teeth. you turn away. your wings shush against an old telephone booth, door forced closed. you’re calling your mother to say you’re sorry for hurting her, but when she answers you hang up.
Taylor Rhodes