janie's got a gun

“remember when you used to sleep here all the time, janie?” robert walked back in from the kitchen, smiling as he spoke.

it was late and the house was dark. so silent, i’d forgotten how quiet his house gets. no television playing all day, no wandering through the halls, no sleepless nights. he is balancing a tray in his hands, a childish grin painted all over his face.

he sits down behind me and pulls me close to him. i can feel his breath on the back of my neck, down my spine, warmth spreading across my whole body. he hands me a cup. he's made hot cocoa for us, out of those little packs with the marshmallows that never really soften like they should; they remind me of the ones they gave us at seventh grade camp.

“yeah. troy would fall asleep on your pile by the closet, over there," i point at the pile, smiling at the sight of our clothes we had recently added to it, "you and i here in bed. i think troy hated me for that, for being the one in bed with you. he probably hates me still, or will; for this.”

i was starting to unravel what had happened between us, taking it in. the possible consequences and how the reactions might play out. i could picture how it will ripple through our intertwined lives, how it could affect us all. but, i don't want to think on it, not yet. i just want this right now, robert and i, in each other's arms, drinking cocoa. so, i sip the sticky sweet warmth and move myself in closer, flutter shut my eyes. i just want to forget the entire world tonight.

“janie, maybe we shouldn’t tell troy about this.” his words thud out of him, hit the wall and pound back. they hit me like a fist, like a bucket of cold water being poured all over my naked skin. i stiffen, a thousand questions and assumptions lining up in front of me. my psyche firing squad. ready. aim. fire.