jelliebeers

He has an illustration in his closet. In the portrait, he is holding a women by the waist.  He gently rests his hand on her hip.  She is naked and he is fully clothed.  I wonder who she is because she is very attractive.

There are bloody hand prints on a blank billboard.  The dried blood has a creamy quality to it.

I ask him, “If you don’t feel the same way about me as you used to, tell me…”

“I don’t…”

I start crying.  I feel bad that I am blowing off a friend.  We were supposed to meet at the ice cream convention.  I knew they’d be mad and wouldn’t be understanding.

I have no idea where I am.  My shirt is so stretched out that my breasts are showing.  I pull up my shirt to try to cover myself.  I feel horrible, exposed.