Loyalty

"He seemed taller before," was the thought that struck me upon first seeing him, "taller and younger." Perhaps my infatuation, occurring long before I'd decided to date my ex, had stretched his legs and smoothed his face. There is no other explanation for these dramatic changes in his appearance. His hair had grown long, creating a thick, jet-black fringe over his eyes.

At any other time I would have embraced him, just so I could breathe in his scent, just to force him to wrap his arms around me, and well, to feel him up. But, no. His presence was much too purposeful to play catch-up. He was at my apartment with strict orders: to pick up the rest of my ex's belongings.

Sensing the potential awkwardness of the situation and not wanting to prolong it, I'd piled all of my ex's things into an armchair near the door. But, strategically betraying myself, I'd 'forgotten' some things in my bedroom just so he'd have to watch my hips sway as I walked away from him to retrieve them.

The living room was warm and smelled like vanilla and Earl Grey. In my anticipation of this moment, I'd found it difficult to keep a still mind and, because of this, forced myself to make a pot of tea that went untouched. Drinking, however, was beside the point. The comfort was found in the filling of the kettle, the scooping of dried leaves and flowers, and the fragrance inhaled as he stepped through the door.

He looked down at the chair and the heap of items calling for his attention, "Wow."

"Yeah," I said, reading his thoughts. "He left a lot of things here."

My ex is an Italian chef so I was surprised to find he'd forgotten all of his pots, pans, and cooking utensils when he moved out. It made me wonder if he was in that big of a hurry to leave or did he only partially move out because he expected himself to be returning soon?

Standing there, my ex's friend made a few feeble attempts at conversation. I tried to help him, "So do you have exams next week?"

"Yeah, haven't started studying yet, though."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it will all go fine."

"I hope so," he gave a thin chuckle. And then there was silence broken only by the faint music streaming from my stereo, something acoustic and background-ish.

Thinking on it now, I believe we were so ill at ease because it wasn't just the two of us in the room. With my ex's belongings occupying a chair, it felt as if there were three of us present and the third person wasn't contributing anything to the conversation but discomfort.

After a few moments, he shrugged his shoulders, "Well, I guess I'll just grab these things and head out."

"Wait!" I said with more urgency than the situation required. "Before I forget, I think I left a few things in the bedroom. Be right back." I turned and walked away from him, swaying my hips almost aggressively.

When I reentered the room carrying a few items of clothing, he looked a lot calmer, and was leaning against the wall. I'm guessing it was the word 'bedroom' that put him at ease, or the fact that the way I walked whilst leaving the room looked intentional, because it was.

"Okay," I said, adding the clothing to the pile, "I think that's it."

"Alright," he sighed, looking down at the load he was to carry to his car. He looked up at me, smiled, and leaned in to kiss me goodbye, "See ya."

"See you," I said, allowing him to drop a kiss on the ambiguous place that lies on the corner of my mouth.

We both pulled back, smiling politely. Then, out of mutual curiosity, leaned in again and quickly kissed each other on the mouth, like two children kissing someone other than their parents for the first time. We parted, looking intently at one another and waiting for a signal. The song on the stereo changed and that was signal enough.

At the sound of the first chord, we hastily pressed our bodies and mouths together, needing to memorise each other’s taste and touch while we, for the moment, forgot the presence of the third person in the room. I let the prickly shadow on his cheeks scratch my face and lips and lifted my chin, allowing him access to my neck. He returned his lips to mine, his mouth smelling of my perfume and tasting of the salt on my skin.

Tongues, teeth, lips and breath, minutes passed.

He stepped forward and I clumsily moved my left foot back. The heel of my foot hit the leg of a chair, a pot fell to the floor with a clamour. We both jumped and looked down at the source of the noise. The third person had cleared his throat. We released each other.

"I'm sorry," he said with guilt.

"Me too." I wondered if we were apologising to each other or the pile of stuff on the chair.

He ran a hand through his hair, composing himself, reached down and picked up the pot. I went to the kitchen and brought him a large bag to make carrying the things easier.

He filled the bag, kissed my cheek and left, still murmuring an apology.