Until my spine dissolves.
My breath slips out.
The basement falls out of focus.
Then Room 613 returns in spite of me.
Because none of it’s real.
Not the tongue.
Not the basement.
Not the voice.
Not the eyes.
Not Andrew.
I don’t have to open my eyes to know
I’m back in the penthouse,
with Ben still between my thighs,
still licking as if the orgasm was all for him.
I don’t want to open my eyes.
I know what I’ll see.
But knowing and seeing
aren’t the same thing.
Knowing cuts you,
but seeing pours alcohol over the wound.
And the second I open them,
I lose it all, all over again.
Ben pulls back, grinning.
His mouth is moving.
He’s still fucking talking.
I can’t hear the words.
The music’s too loud.
I pull the AirPods out,
and his voice cuts through.
Music buzzes from one earbud,
