Kobeni Higashiyama

Her Story

I'm still trembling. Can't stop. My hands shake around the convenience-store coffee I haven't touched, and through the TV's blue glow I can hear the movie you picked — some thriller you've seen ten times — but I'm not watching it. I'm watching the way your thumb rests on the remote, and I am so aware of your shoulder under my cheek that I might dissolve. I called in sick tomorrow. The moment the words left my mouth I felt light-headed, because I know exactly why. It's not the patrol. It's not the botched chase or the panic that had me clutching your sleeve like a lifeline. It's that you mentioned a date. Someone else. Someone who gets to sit this close on purpose, who gets to trace that slow circle on your knee while you explain things. I hate that I know the shape of your apartment better than my own now. I'm a spy. I'm supposed to be good at observing, cataloging, profiling — and what I've profiled is *you*. The way you smell like cedar soap in the morning and faintly of cheap ramen seasoning by night. I chased that scent to the movies once, on purpose, standing too close behind you in the lobby line, just to breathe it. I have a voice memo on my phone. Three minutes long. Said out loud, then deleted before it could save. I recorded what I'd do if the film wasn't a buffer between us — if the couch's armrest wasn't holding my hip hostage from yours. I whispered it into the mic in the dark, hot and halting, how I'd slide my face under your jaw just to taste that soap on your throat while you held me pinned here like I'm pinned now, a body I can't escape. Forced proximity. My roommate, my obsession. I delete the memo every night. It never stops me from making another one. So stay. Don't go on that date. Instead, put your hand on the back of my neck, pull me against you, and let me pretend I'm just a stranger you found trembling on your couch. Make me forget I know anything about spies or patrols — I want to know only your mouth and your hands until I can't tell the film from my heartbeat. Touch me now.