apocalypse would be a bath of fire. He could feel it already. She drew closer, pushed him down onto his bed.
“I wanted to tell you, so that you’d know why I did that, the other night,” she said.
“I understand,” he said, just as she hooked herself onto him. The squeeze was so multidimensional, he rationalized using no protection, though he supposed there wasn’t enough time for it to matter. He heard himself emit a desperate, glottal groan.
“Do you?” she said, moving against him, the curtain of her hair casting wild shadows about her face.
“No,” he said, closing his eyes to focus on the heat between her thighs. “I just wanted to have sex with you,” he said softly, feeling in the new jeopardy of the earth, a pressure not to pretend. She regarded him as she rode, her eyes like dark glass. She moved like an arc of smoke, like an oil slick through fresh water.
“You’re a dishonest man,” she finally said, sighing, a hitch in her voice. “I think,” she said, punctuating with her hips, “that men like you just wake up one day, and realize everything you’ve done is accidental,” she said, biting her lip, seeming to enjoy it despite the disgust in her voice. “And then you just hate yourself,” she said, leaning down to kiss his lips, which finished him, and he opened his eyes, shocked that it happened so soon. She curled her lip and unhooked herself, tossed on her clothes, and ran from the room, through the front door, into the street. He stood by the window naked, watched her go in those short shorts and boots.
Two months later she was standing outside on the sidewalk. He only happened to walk by that same window and see her, gazing into his house from the street. His wife was home, but sleeping. When he went outside to see her, he shut the door softly with his elbows, now carrying his newborn child in his arms. He would have an excuse to leave quickly, since babies couldn’t be kept outside in
Raven Leilani | 21