Disclaimer: They aren't mine and I didn't make any money. They were returned happy but confused to the original owner. Notes: They say if you write it all down you will finally figure it out.
Comments on this story can be sent to: Elizabethsparrowsong@yahoo.com
Journal Entry: May 10
I remember the first time I saw this journal. You were looking at some freaky looking plant so I wandered off. The journal was really nice. Burgundy leather with gold letters on the front that said "Precious Memories". Then, I had to have a special pen to write with, a fountain pen, because I liked the way the ink flowed across the page like a caress. I decided to keep the journal to kinda work some things out in my head. I thought, maybe, I'd want to keep it if things work out. Ya know? As of tonight, I've been writing in it exactly three months and 14 days.
You came into work today a little late, but you weren't all flustered like you usually are when you're late. I looked up from the newspaper I was pretending to read and your face was open and serene, your blue eyes wide, almost innocent looking, but I knew they weren't. We've just seen too much. I know your face after all these years, every line, whether from laughter or pain. I've seen it twisted with physical agony and flushed with joy. The worst times have been when your face was blank with the numbness of a blow to your big, soft heart or steeled at miscarried justice, where you'd taken the blame on yourself and then retreated into your head.
Today was good. Smiles. When you noticed me looking, you held out the paper bag you carried. "Fruit?"
"Nah." I shook my head and ducked behind my paper again to watch you eat. My secret pleasure.
You rummaged around in the paper bag and pulled out a large Freestone peach. Disappearing just for a moment into the break-room, you returned with the damp fruit, drying it carelessly on your jeans. Wrapping your long-fingered musician's hands sound the succulent fruit; you brought it to your face, inhaling the sweet fragrance of summer. With your eyes closed, bringing it to your lips, you opened your mouth slightly, not quite touching the sensitive skin of your lips with the fuzz on the peel of the peach.
I caught my breath and your attention as you sank your teeth into the juicy flesh and juice squirted around your mouth.
"Wha?" You pulled the fruit away from your mouth allowing the nectar to dribble on your chin.
"Just a chill," I lied, watching you brush the juice off your chin and into your mouth with your finger, sucking the digit dry.
"Oh." You shrugged, "Someone walking over your grave?"
"Yeah," and finished under my breath, "or trying to put me in it."
"What was that?"
"Nothin. Nothin'. Just eat your breakfast. I'm trying to read," I snapped.
You shrugged again and began to eat. I'd never seen anyone eat fruit like you do. All fruit. Peaches just happened to be my personal favorite. Sinking your strong, white teeth into the flesh of the fruit, you simultaneously licked at every drop. You savored texture, sweetness, and flavor, making it a gustatorial delight. You sucked at the exposed flesh until it was dry of its natural juices and then bit hungrily into the fruit. In just a few moments your lips were red and swollen, like you'd been kissed. Hard. The kind of kisses where your lips were sucked and bitten until they looked as they did now. I watched this assault go on as you finished the fruit. I knew there was sweat running down my back.
Finally, reaching the pit, you popped it into your mouth, sucking every particle of flesh and drop of juice from the seed. When finished, you gave the pit a wistful look that melted my bones and then dropped it into the wastebasket. Your hands, covered in sticky juice from your whole-hearted attack, were your next project. I held my breath as you stuck each finger into your mouth and sucked it clean. Stars began to dance in my field of vision as you crumbled the bag closed bringing me crashing back to Earth.
I knew I was pale. I felt the blood leave my face as you sucked that first finger into your mouth. I could hear my own ragged breathing. I twisted and fidgeted around in my chair seeking comfort that would not come, no matter how badly I wanted it to, I couldn't stop. It was like watching sex. Pure, raw, animal sex.
I looked around the room to see if the others had noticed. Had this golden god making love to his breakfast affected them? Were they watching too? I looked from face to face. Some averted their eyes and some met my challenge. Yes. They were all watching.
They were watching me.