Traces

The room wanted to spin, so I put my legs on the floor and held on to the arm of the couch. She had jokingly told me she could drink me under the table, and she was really doing it. This was a night I wanted to be drunk anyway, a night I hoped I would eventually pass out since I hadn’t been able to sleep for so long. She looked at me and held my hand, and said, “You really don’t drink much do you?” I gave a wry grin, because I was afraid to shake my head no.

She helped me up, and put her arm around my waist. She steadied me as we left the party and walked upstairs to my apartment. I gave her the key and she let us in and led me to my bedroom. She sat me on the bed and removed my shirt, then leaned me back on the pillow and removed my jeans. I heard a further rustling of clothes and felt her get in beside me. I opened my eyes to see she had removed her dress and was in her under garments, a sexy bra and panties.

I was in bed with a beautiful woman, her body warm and pressed against mine; I was functional enough to realize  that she may be insulted if I didn’t make advances, so I reached down between us and stroked her lower belly. As I leaned close I noticed her scent was delicate and feminine, a scent I could not describe but would be able to pick out from a thousand others. She whispered, “Sweet man, it’s not necessary,” then took my hand in hers, brought it to her mouth, and kissed my fingers gently. I felt her warm breath on my cheek and she kissed there too, then whispered for me to sleep. Sleep was my enemy though, I was afraid to sleep, because whenever I had closed my eyes since that last shift in ER, I saw the scene all over again, all that blood and the little boy’s terrified face.

“Something happened at the hospital didn’t it?” It was like she could read my mind. Sometimes women are like that – they know things about you even though you have never told them. I nodded but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the drunk driver and the little boy. How nothing we did seemed to help him.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered again.

“I can’t,” I whispered back

She didn’t say a word, just put her hand on my forehead. It felt remarkably cool compared to the warmth her body seemed to radiate. She brought her hand lower and as she did the pressure from her palm gently closed my eyes. I didn’t see the boy or the blood, I saw a gentle golden light, somehow steady and comforting, and at last, I fell asleep.

When I awoke I reached for her but she was gone. I opened my eyes to the afternoon sun and noticed a strand of her hair on the pillow next to me. As I reached for the long strand, I detected just the faintest trace of her scent.