Watching from the kitchen window, he’d waited for my friends to leave me standing in the cool October air my skin freckled with lamplight cast through the tree’s browned leaves, the fallen ones staring up from the damp edges of the emptied pool. I turned; my intent to return inside was blocked by his hands at my waist, by his mouth on my mouth, by his intent to go in me.
I remember the moment my hand fell across his cheek: the thunderous clap reverberating in his eyes; the sudden electrical charge titillating the mechanics of brutish thought. “But you’re drunk,” he said, dumbstruck. I met his gaze with a defiant glower. And still, he obstructed the doorway as if the red blood pooled in the capillaries of my open hand wasn’t answer enough.
Born minutes away from the famous Stanley Hotel, Cerise J. Hawker finds inspiration between the pages of Stephen King. She enjoys reading, people watching, and exploring other countries and cultures. She received her BA in English: Creative Writing from the University of North Texas and currently works at the University of Texas in Dallas, giving back to the community of educators who continue to inspire and challenge her creativity.