For a month straight, a new story everyday. Some will be true, some will be half true and some will be fiction based off truth.
If I don’t post one and you catch it, I’ll send you a present and a hand written note… promise
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The doorbell rings inside, clearly audible over the silence of the street, but he’s inside his head, lost in his thoughts about the night before, the nights before that, the trip so far, the girls (plural), running running thoughts thoughts ideas ideas, his mind is racing racing.
Will they ever let me in? he thinks.
But differently, unlike his preference. Her face is round, uncorrupted by make up, framed by her messy, thrown up hair. She’s wearing relaxed clothing, as if no guests were expected, with slippers and a cigarette held gently between fingers, waiting for her lips.
It’s her demeanor that captivates him. She’s cute, shy, different, the type that likes to wander the woods and smell flowers and watch the rain through an open window wrapped in a blanket, alone. Not aggressive, not forward, not sexy but, after the long night before and the long trip and the recent heartbreak and his thoughts and his emotions, right now, she is his type.
He sleeps walks through the tour, barely paying attention as she slides around the hostel. It’s the usual check in:
“10 euro deposit for your key, 46 Litas for your room, coffee and tea are free…” and this might be the thousandth time he’s been through this routine, nodding and smiling like on the plane as the flight attendant instructs “Put the metal piece into the..” Been here before, don’t need to listen.
“Oh, and you’re the only one staying here tonight.” He snaps back, the fog clears.
“So we get to hang out all night, right?” Teasing tone, playful smile.
Unpacked, life belongings spread across the empty room, no one’s going to steal them, he steps outside to the common area. Back to her, back to clarity, back to the game, back to using the fact that he has a WHOLE HOSTEL TO HIMSELF.
She’s making tea, of course she is, and she pours him a cup as they sit across the table from each other, sipping and talking and she’s shy with her eyes. They’re getting closer as the tension in the air grows and the hours stretch out, but he backs it down, slowing.
Only the two of them playing the game with nothing to distract them, back and forth and back as their conversation moves slowly along towards their destination.
As the interaction moves, so do they, to the balcony, for a cigarette. The rain puts her at ease, as she occasionally drifts up and away with smoke from her self rolled.
Inside, to the couch, closing the distance between them, even closer, under the blanket, light touching, close, closer to face to face. The mint tea on her breath, the incense burning, the rain outside, so close, moving in just a little bit more.
Doorbell rings. She’s up immediately, sliding to the door, opening it, slowly, regretfully, hoping it’s not what they both know it will be.
“Do you have rooms available?”