A Conversation with the Unconscious

“No, I wouldn't say you're fat.” Trent said, his face pressed against my back. Despite the heat of the apartment, it was a welcome comforting warmth. “But both of us could stand to lose some weight.”

I stiffened. Now his face was too close. It was in my space and right then I very much wanted my own space. I could feel his breath sticking to my skin. Now I wanted to shower.

Trent nuzzled his forehead against me, moving my bra strap and making my back itchy. He probably didn't notice. “Remember how fit we used to be?”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. “Go on.”

He sleepily added, “You used to be so graceful, part cat, part ummmm goddess. God, how you could move.”

Used to be.

I scrunched my shoulders together rolling them forward away from him.

Reflexively, he tightened the spoon, pulling me closer. I knew it was wrong to be mad at him for his thoughts when he was half asleep but I also kind of wanted to stab him in the chest.

Unwrapping myself from his arm, I slid out of bed and ignored his mumbled question.