Agh! This was torture.
It took forever.
I have a multitude of excuses. I won't do you the disservice of explaining.
Suffice to say, I'm sorry.
Right now, I'm wrecking my brain trying to finish that other one. You know which one (S-O-R-R-Y). After that, this story will inevitably meet its end as well.
Writing is soooo hard. Thank God I don't earn my bread from doing it!
Again, this is long so you can entertain yourselves until I'm finished. Also, I've shortened my reviewing time in order to post it sooner (or you would've had to wait another month and you've waited enough time already!). That being said, be aware of my mistakes and forgive me for them (and correct me if you feel like it. You actually know more English!)
Have fun!
Don't forget your slowest writer adores you.
XOXO,
Nana.
4
JULIAN
DISORIENTED, I OPEN MY EYES
to a strangeness that consumes everything. I can't tell what time it is. I'm not even sure what day it is. It might still be Monday. It might be Tuesday already. In the semi-darkness, I'm overwhelmed by a sense of dislocation. My body instantly recognizes the bed as foreign, the rustling of the bedsheets against my skin is a softer caress to that I'm used to.
With loose and tired limbs, I roll over inhaling an unfamiliar washing detergent's clean essence. There's also something of myself mingled with newness. It's a powerful memory trigger that relocates me: the faint fragrance of lemongrass on the pillow is the same impregnating my own sheets these days.
Pearl's bedroom is new territory. It's still uprooting to spend the night in a space that isn't my own. This interchange between our places is a new development. Mondays at hers, Fridays at mine, and the occasional quick fuck in my car in the middle of the week are part of our increasing need to be together. Only one thing remains the same: that recurrent, unwelcoming realization that I'm alone hasn't changed. The bed is empty. The bed is always empty.
The rush of abandonment flooding me shouldn't jar me this much. I should get used to it. It's not my first time waking up to an absence. Most nights I'm on my own.
Yet, this absence is specific. It has a name now.
Pearl's sitting on the sill haloed by the yellowed street light filtering in through her window. She's the only source of brightness purging the night from this room. Unaware of my speculative gaze, she's completely absorbed, scribbling away on that secretive black notebook she carries around.
For the millionth time, I wonder what she writes in there. I wonder if
I'm
written there.
It's become a nearly ritualistic ceremony to be pulled out of sleep just before the beginning of the day, my body wired to awake only to find the space beside me vacant. Not for the first time, it occurs to me I might be unconsciously adapting to her habits. Pearl can never linger on dreams. I'm always denied the pleasure of waking up with my arms around her. I'll always find her sitting in some corner, wearing my t-shirt as she is now, silently waiting for the rest of the night to fade away.
Knowing she would prefer to wear the clothes that were on my body is a small secret pleasure I gorge on. Even here, in her bedroom, where every item of clothing she owns is available to her, my t-shirt is what she picked. If I ask her about it, she'll say she loves how I smell and she wants to cling to it and feel she's got me on her skin.
As if sensing my attention, her eyes fly up to catch mine. "You're awake," she half-whispers, afraid to disturb the incoming morning.
"So are you," I say with sleep deepening my voice. "Again."
She sighs and conspicuously tucks the notebook behind the cushion on her back. I pretend not to notice it. "I couldn't sleep anymore," she says.
"I know."
I've never asked her about the Adderall bottle in her bathroom cabinet. I never ask her about a lot of small things. Pearl has a way of sharing very selective aspects of her life while keeping herself shrouded in mystery. I'm always afraid to pry into her life and come off as invasive.
"I'm sorry I'm such a zombie," she says. "Did I wake you?"
"You didn't. Don't worry," I say, noticing the alertness in her voice. She's been up for some time. "You know, this kind of feels like when Hannah was a baby."
The mention of my daughter puts a smile on Pearl's face. "Was she a terrible sleeper, too?"
"Worse than you, actually." In my mind, I'm transported back in time. I go to those nights Hannah's screeches would interrupt the few precious hours of sleep Karen and I could get. The responsibility of being the one to get up in the middle of the night was mine. I was the only one who could coax a restless baby Hannah back to sleep. I suppose Karen always knew I loved those private moments with Han, which was convenient for her, since she couldn't bring herself to attend to our baby's needs. In those early hours before dawn, it was only my child and myself. No one else. Come to think of it, from the beginning, it's always been the two of us.
Because of Pearl's unusual sleeping patterns, I'm getting to revisit that sensation I used to have with my daughter; it's like she and I are the only two people left on the planet. In this bubble of time we get together, I'm glad I don't need to share myself with anyone else but her.
"Han was a crepuscular creature," I tell Pearl, bringing myself back to the present. "She slept most of the day and cried away throughout the night. I used to stay up till crazy hours just trying to get her to shut up and go back to sleep."
Pearl tilts her head and smiles fondly at me. It's a smile only she gives me and I like to entertain the notion that I'm the only one who gets it. "Come here, My Pearl," I beckon.
She abandons her post and strides towards me. These sleepless dawns have an eerie power to transform her into an ethereal being. She's never stranger or more real than she is now. Her hair is a halo of disarranged curls around her open, ever-smiling face. My smile stretches at the memory of my fingers getting tangled in that soft, dark mass.
My t-shirt is the perfect length to leave her beautiful strong thighs exposed to my admiration. Pushing the bedsheets off of my legs, I make an invitation Pearl gladly accepts. "It's no compliment to me that you're never tired enough to wait for the sun," I say, luxuriating in her comfortable weight settling over my lap. Without even thinking, I move my hands to her bare legs. All that skin, exposed, begging to be touched. I can't help myself.
Her mouth curves lazily, almost sheepishly. "
It is
