Christine saysChristine says by sunflower-eyes
I'm dressed in 94% cotton, 6% spandex, a chartreuse dress to my knees, accented with a loop of dark wooden beads, flaked out on someone else's couch, in someone else's home, and I've only known him for seven minutes since I tripped and fell off the curb, and he swooped me up and carried me off to his beige-colored couch. Kinda a scratchy couch too, and it's pinching and tugging at my bare arms, so I sit up and move over to another chair except that I don't exactly make it thanks to my earlier injury, and now I'm collapsed on someone else's floor in someone else's house, whimpering over my foot.
He comes out, swinging a box of Band-aids and a roll of ankle wrap between his fingers. His muffled flip-flops slap the brown carpet as he crosses the room and pauses over me. And he's standing over me, and I can feel him looking down at me through long eyelashes and drooped eyelids, and he asks, in an amused way, if I fell off the couch.