Monday 25 June 2018

The lamb of Wall Street.

Come, Bridget. 

His eyes glitter, hard navy diamonds in the post-sunset dimness. He's been patient, he's been absolutive, he's been muted in his usual protests. He's been waiting me out.

I don't make him wait longer. I go to him, as instructed and he slides his hands around my waist, trying to breathe me in, exhaling all of his tension out against my skin, as he rests his head against mine. His arms slide further, until I am tightly pressed against him and then he feels right.

This. Just this and nothing else. Relaxes me to the very core. 

Your standards seem low today. 

No, precisely the opposite. They have risen. 

It's a Monday Miracle. 

Was today difficult? 

Beyond. 

Anything I can do?

This. I echo his words and his eyes soften into a lapis laze.

Delighted. But tell me the hardest part anyway. 

Talking myself out of my usual nervous panic. 

Did you succeed?

Barely. 

Then that's a milestone. 

Yeah, you're right. It is. Go me. 

Go you. 

I should go, actually. 

I wish you wouldn't. 

I really need to. 

Another time then, Neamhchiontach. 

I nod, still surprised that I got away. Without being eaten alive and all that.