“Good evening,” I greet him. His eyelids flutter at my voice. He’s heard me; he’s waking up. He speaks, but his voice is slow and slurred. I’ll have to see if I can’t get him to behave on lower dosages, I don’t want to ruin him.
He’s sitting up now, slowly. Shaking his head won’t clear it, but he tries anyway. He doesn’t know any better, poor thing.
He stares down at himself for several long minutes, apparently deep in thought. “Why am I wearing a dress?” The dress itself is slinky and fits tightly; he’s taller and broader than she was, but the material is designed to stretch. It hugs his hips quite nicely. She wore that dress when I took her to dinner, when I asked her to marry me.
“Because we’re going to have a nice dinner, Lucrecia,” I say to him, stepping forward. His eyes travel up and down in confusion. I don’t think he’s seen me in a suit before. He’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with my sentence.
“Lucrecia? I’m not–”
“Not hungry? Oh, you always say that. Come along, dinner’s ready.” He nearly falls when I pull him off the table, but I hold him until he balances. None of her shoes would have fit him, so he is barefoot. I drag him up the stairs behind me. He’s too confused to fight, but he’s uncoordinated. I suppose that’s to be expected.
I’ve already set the table, lit the candle, served the food. I make small talk, flirt, recall past moments. He falls into the role surprisingly fast, fast enough to be a bit unnerving. Is he playing or has he lost himself? It’s hard to tell.
After dinner, it is he who takes my hand. It is he who leans in to kiss me. I think I had too much of the wine at dinner. My fingers are in his hair and his hands are on my buttons.
I think, for a little while, we both forget who we are.
Incredibly confused by this one, but something in me really adores it.
“I think, for a little while, we both forget who we are.” – love that line.