she

  she wasn't a girlfriend. she resembled a friend. she was a regular fuck who showed up three minutes early at the designated location every other monday night. with a hint of her eyes she made him follow. he never questioned her or asked if bryce was her real name. at five-foot-nine she fit squarely in his arms on the king size hotel bed lying on her left side. her skin was too taught and too void of imperfections to reveal her desperation. she often complimented him. she slid her fingertips over his shirt cuffs. she was glad he chose the suede boots over the loafers. the sounds she made told him she enjoyed his company. he couldn't remember the last time. she slept with her hands underneath the pillow. in public they practiced formalities. they shared cab rides. she couldn't believe he didn't recognize her.