She has wax on her fingers. Milky white cocoons that protect her touch. She likes the barrier, feels soiled when it’s stripped away.
Jeremy slumps on the couch beside her, gaze fixed to the flame of a weeping candle.. His eyes have the glazed look of one bong hit too many. His skin only a little less stained than the sofa beneath him. Alex hopes he has forgotten her. She keeps hers feet close to her body so she won’t have to touch him again. He coughs and she jumps at the sudden bark.
“Pack me another bowl?” she asks, voice floating in the haze of the room.
His brows pinch and he glares at the shrinking pile of green, haphazard on the table.
“You gotta cook dinner.” he says, moving nothing but his lips.
The two stare straight ahead, ponder the contracts signed in convenience, with sweat and spit and easy words.
Alex sighs, sits up, shucks the wax from her fingertips.
“Pork chops?”
“Yup.” He replies, hauling himself slowly forward to fix her another puff.