by S. Waldron
The hotel room was in the attic, the hotel clerk had offered it with a great flourish “we’ve upgraded you to a suite.” We nodded and smiled. Travelling up in the lift I suspected, however, crumpled after six hours of coach travel from the coast, we looked nowhere near fancy enough for anything too impressive.
“Did you want to do some work?” I asked.
“Just a little, then we can go out.”
I showered and wrapped myself in a white bathrobe, making sure I was naked underneath. I wanted to be ready, suggestive even, but not expectant. I felt I had forced this situation already.
He was still on his computer so I pretended to read until he came to sit next to me. He put on some music - a young girl playing guitar and singing about men, dinosaurs, lost love, solar bodies. We talked about nothing until he kissed me.
That night was the last time to see the city, neither of us cared, we were more than ready to leave. We ate Japanese food, the first I had had in the Baltics. Afterwards we took a bottle of cheap fizz to the river and sat, shivering on the pavement, watching the joggers.
The next day he said goodbye to me at the airport. He tasted of the milk. I watched him walk away, to fly to a place I had never been and realised I had fallen in love and that I would never see him again.
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