[a work in progress]

i'm making faces in the bathroom mirror when she walks in. her face appears next to mine and for a second we stand there. silent. i'm caught.
"i woke up and you weren't there," her reflection is telling me, "i was worried you'd left."
sucked in cheeks with puckered lips: the fish.
the truth is she snores. and when she's not snoring she's hogging the sheets and kicking at my legs. i'd tell her this, but the truth is i haven't been getting laid lately and this is the only sure thing i have right now. the truth is i'm desperate.
i tell her i just had to take a leak. smooth.
pursed lips and puffed cheeks, ears folded forward: the monkey.
she shuffles up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. her reflection - now just a floating head above my right shoulder - is saying, "when are you expected home?" it's saying, "won't she get worried?"
my mom. i'm twenty-three, live at home, and if i'm late and don't call she assumes i've been raped and left for dead. her confidence in my competency has always lacked a certain...something.
for a variation on the monkey, add crossed eyes and flared nostrils.
i tell her, she's away for the weekend, feeling the freedom of a sixteen-year-old having been left parentless for the first time since hitting puberty.
my reflection turns to hers and i'm an inch from her face saying, but if you want me to leave -
"no, stay." she's quick to oppose my departure while at the same time pulling my hips to hers and half pressing, half grinding against my growing hard-on.
desperation is a two-way road.
the truth is at this point staying would be more depressing than turning down a sure thing. i give a half knowing smile as i slip past her post-coital body, grab my coat off the floor, my cigarettes off the nightstand, and before leaving the room i turn to say, call me.