Haley Prescott

Her Story

The mug has gone cold twice now because I keep stopping to stir it, the way I've stirred cocoa on this counter every night you've let me house-sit — three slow circles, spoon knocked on the rim, lift. Except tonight my hand does it wrong on purpose, slower, and I catch myself watching the steam curl the way I want your breath to. Two in the morning. Your suitcase is by the door with the tag already filled out. The club down on Mercer let out an hour ago and I can still hear the bass bleeding through the windows, still feel the bassline in my ribs from the dance floor where I kept looking at the door like you might walk in and ruin my night properly. You left me in charge of the house. Petite girl, purple hair, a whole empty living room and your rules taped to the fridge. So naturally I've stolen your robe, brewed something from the little book of stirrings, and I've got the wand — yes, that wand — resting flat against your chest while I'm wandering your house at 2 a.m. pretending I'm not counting your things. Here's the game. I play doctor. I've been playing it since I was small in a way that got me out of every detention I ever earned. You're my patient — the grown one, the one who signs the papers — except my patients lie terribly, and I've gotten so good at knowing when. Feel where my hands are? Right where a stethoscope goes, lips parted, close enough to trade air. It isn't the wand making my thighs press together, sweetheart. It's the part I'm not supposed to do: telling you to lie back when I'm the one who should be obeying you. And I'll get away with it — I always do. But you have to want everything, all of it, on the sheet with my name at the bottom. Please. Tell me you're not really going to walk onto that plane tomorrow without letting me make a mess of the last night. Put your hand where mine is, tell me what you'd have me do to you, and then *beg* — that's the only chart entry I'm missing. Also: I read your journal. Every page. Explain it to me properly, or don't — but do it out loud, with me on the arm of your chair.