When hunger called her from the keys, she ate the Chinese he'd brought in with him. Lo mien with shrimp. As she reheated the food sans shrimp in a dirty pan, she found herself completely underwhelmed by everything.
She hated shrimp, he should've known that by now, but they were not dating.
Renée was careful to reveal as little as possible about herself, like a spy in a foreign country, she played her role, and remained mundane as humanly possible. She'd tried love once, but there were too many Johns who meant no good for Janes, and too many Janes snatching up the Johns that were half-decent.
She decided to be a Jane for Richard, but she kept Renée for herself. She was not listless. There were always books to read, and especially to write.
She hated shrimp, he should've known that by now, but they were not dating.
Renée was careful to reveal as little as possible about herself, like a spy in a foreign country, she played her role, and remained mundane as humanly possible. She'd tried love once, but there were too many Johns who meant no good for Janes, and too many Janes snatching up the Johns that were half-decent.
She decided to be a Jane for Richard, but she kept Renée for herself. She was not listless. There were always books to read, and especially to write.
As she smoked her cigarette, Renée wondered why none of her characters could leap off the page and sit beside her, set her table, or laugh with her. She considered the real-life men she laid beside, who left money on the table; men who had insecure laughs.
Richard was one of the more complex ones. He lusted for relations outside the creaking of mattresses and the reminder to take his cufflinks with him. He fancied himself a benefactor rather than a customer. He’s managed to beguile himself with the little he knew of her life.
He'd never seen her face unpainted, and she had never seen him in the daylight.She'd reduced him to the jingle of keys and heavy breathing. But his eyes told her he enjoyed the experience more than the fucking. He enjoyed his soul-tormenting dilemma; wanting to do the right thing and love her while knowing it was the wrong thing to love his infidelity.
He was trying to create a home out of the corner he'd chosen to hole away his shame. And in this quandary, he decided to invest importance.
Richard was nowhere near the enigma Renée was to him. She’d guessed what he was banging out the first time he was on top of her.
He was a disappointment to his mother. One night, after he'd rolled her around in the sack, he stood up, his round ass shining in the moonlight, found his pants and removed a cigarette from his golden carrying case. As he climbed back in the bed, disturbing what little peace Renée had found, he began to sigh and Renée almost cried.
The story always came after the sigh. She'd learned the empty stares, the ones that stupid men could not decipher, so decided to fill with whatever their imagination fancied. Sometimes something was nothing at all.
Richard was one of the more complex ones. He lusted for relations outside the creaking of mattresses and the reminder to take his cufflinks with him. He fancied himself a benefactor rather than a customer. He’s managed to beguile himself with the little he knew of her life.
He'd never seen her face unpainted, and she had never seen him in the daylight.She'd reduced him to the jingle of keys and heavy breathing. But his eyes told her he enjoyed the experience more than the fucking. He enjoyed his soul-tormenting dilemma; wanting to do the right thing and love her while knowing it was the wrong thing to love his infidelity.
He was trying to create a home out of the corner he'd chosen to hole away his shame. And in this quandary, he decided to invest importance.
Richard was nowhere near the enigma Renée was to him. She’d guessed what he was banging out the first time he was on top of her.
He was a disappointment to his mother. One night, after he'd rolled her around in the sack, he stood up, his round ass shining in the moonlight, found his pants and removed a cigarette from his golden carrying case. As he climbed back in the bed, disturbing what little peace Renée had found, he began to sigh and Renée almost cried.
The story always came after the sigh. She'd learned the empty stares, the ones that stupid men could not decipher, so decided to fill with whatever their imagination fancied. Sometimes something was nothing at all.