Just One More Winter
She calls him a “boy”, even though he is 41 and she is just 25.
Like she has seen too much, like he is just a muzhik.
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Like her years in the orphanage have taught her too much and his life, well they never talked about their lives.
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Her eyes: deep, empty, quiet, yet filled with a thousand screams.
Like eyes of a warrior who is the only survivor of her camp.
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He’d move his fingers over her scars as if trying to mark constellations on her skin.
Her skin: dark, like a black hole and the gap between her legs would suck all his thoughts away.
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Every time he looked at the wall she’d pull his hair, “I want you to look into my eyes when you fuck me.”
Though she never said it out loud but she hated the fact that he was cheating on his wife.
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With every thrust he would talk of love and utopia, while she would tell him of society’s delusions and dystopia.
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After every orgasm he’d ask her, “how did you get these scars?”
“I will tell you my stories but only if you stay.”
“For how long?”
“Just one more winter.”
Thanks for reading. Like this piece? There are more like it including “Courage” and “Unrequited Love”. Don’t forget to clap and share your views in a comment. Follow me to read more about my creative journey.
