“It’s the nineties, Jamie,” Susie complained, twirling her fingers over the bare chest below her. She moved her head from the crook of his arm to the spot above his heart to hear his heartbeat. It always calmed her, no matter its actual rhythm. “Why can’t we just live the way we want to?”
Between them, it was an old question. Sometimes, Susan asked, as she asked now, and sometimes James asked. They both knew all the words, and that day it was Jamie’s turn to answer. When Susie felt retrospective, she asked him, and when he felt insecure, he asked her.
It was sometimes post-coital, as then, as with her. His doubts revealed themselves other times, never just after he’d satisfied her. It was then that he felt most confident, and Susan had learned that it was the best time for her to ask if she didn’t want to end up comforting him.
“It’s because they don’t understand. They don’t want to understand,” he said after a moment. “They’re blinded by their own sense of morality.”
“Then we have to move on, don’t we, before someone else finds out?”
He pushed her off his chest gently and sat up, reaching for his scattered clothing. “Yeah, I think so.” If he could hear the pout in her voice, he didn’t comment upon it, and after a moment watching him appreciatively, Susie crawled to the end of the uncomfortable hotel room bed to reclaim her own discarded clothes.
After they had both dressed, standing between the bed and the old lamp in the small dingy room, James pulled Susan into a tight hug. He kissed her forehead and then stepped back a little to look at her.
“So. Where to?” he asked.
This post is part of Flash Fiction February.