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All That Never Happens
Cinnamon
The water was too hot.
She discovered this as she swirled her hand through the bubbles, but she
peeled off her robe and stepped in anyway. The temperature of the water made
her gasp as she lowered her body into the tub, and her weight caused some of
it to cascade onto the pile of newspapers she'd placed on the floor.
"So much for that," she groaned, and reached for her cigarettes.
The package was crumpled and old. She purchased them last spring, along with
a magazine and a Snickers bar, at a gift shop in Dulles when her flight home
was delayed. She'd smoked a couple in Dayton, then deposited the pack into
her purse, where it remained, forgotten, until Donna discovered it last week
while searching for a stick of gum. Most of the cigarettes were broken, but
she'd salvaged a few.
She inhaled deeply and exhaled through her nose, the scent of the smoke
mixing with the cinnamon scent of her bubble bath. Her kitten, which had
followed her into the bathroom, appeared confused by the smoke in the air.
It crept closer to the tub, stopping to sniff the soggy newspapers before it
investigated the ashtray.
"What do you think, little girl?" C.J. reached down to pet the kitten, who
scurried behind the toilet when it felt the water on her fingers.
She took another long drag from the cigarette, then rested it on the side of
the ashtray. Leaning back, she placed her arms under the water and slid
down, letting the water cover her breasts and rise to her chin. Her head
rested against the back of the tub and she closed her eyes.
She thought about how she never got to take baths at home. There was a
bathroom for her parents and one for the kids, and her brothers made too big
a fuss if she spent too long in the tub. Eventually, she gave up trying.
When she was nineteen, she returned to her dorm at three in the morning and
drew a bath. As she did so, she couldn't help but wonder about when the tub
had last been cleaned, but her desire for comfort won out over her disgust.
Later, after her disgust won out over her desire for comfort, she stood under
the hot spray of the shower and decided that the bath wasn't great but wasn't horrible, and neither was the sex.
Because of that, baths became a luxury to her, something that should be
savored and appreciated. Even after she had her own apartment and a bathtub
that wasn't coated with an inch of permanent slime, she reserved baths for
special occasions. And lately, she'd been taking more of them.
She reached for her cigarette again and found it was all ash. Her first
impulse was to light another, but she resisted it. Instead, she reached for
her drink, sipped it, and rested her arm along the side of the tub. The ice
in her glass had long-since melted, but the water helped the flavor of the
Scotch. She'd purchased the Glenlivet for him, on a whim, but she'd ended up
drinking most of the bottle by herself, mostly because he never stayed long
enough to make a drink.
Some nights, their encounters lasted longer than others, but he always left.
He occasionally fell asleep in her bed, something she considered a personal
victory, but she always woke up alone. As much as she hated to admit it, and
she hated to admit it, she wanted him to stay.
It was getting harder to be near him at work. He shuffled pages of a speech,
and she felt his fingers inside her. He cleared his throat, and she tasted
him in her mouth. He leaned against her doorframe, and she ached for him to
move within her. Being with Toby was too much, and it wasn't enough. She
was uncomfortable with how much she needed him, how much she wanted him, how
much she thought about this man who wasn't hers. She took a long drink and
realized that she could handle all or nothing, but she couldn't handle this.
Her reverie was interrupted by gentle knuckles against her door. The kitten,
ever skittish, jumped and took off towards the other corner of the room, but
crashed into the side of the tub. C.J. chuckled. "Come in."
Toby opened the door. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," she said.
"You're hiding."
"I'm taking a bath."
He paused for a moment. "Are you smoking?"
C.J. sipped her drink. "It was the cat. Terrible habit she has."
"Cigarettes will kill you, you know."
"Remind me of that the next time you fire up a cigar."
Toby leaned against the sink. "You're exposed there, C.J."
She glanced down. "So I am." She swirled the remaining liquid around in her
glass. "What do you make of that?"
"That's a big glass."
"I'm a big girl."
"You're hiding," he said again.
"I'm taking a bath."
Toby opened his mouth to speak, then decided against it. He crossed his
arms. "Your newspaper is ruined." He paused. "Did you want to read it?"
"That was the plan."
He nodded and turned to leave. "Okay."
"Where are you going?" She sat up.
"To get some air. And to get you a newspaper."
She placed her glass on the floor. "It's two in the morning."
He paused in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. "Do you have more
of that?"
"The Scotch? Yeah."
"I think I'll have some when I get back."
She smiled. "Okay."
"I like Scotch with my air." His eyes lingered on her bare chest.
"Toby?"
"Hmm?"
"It's impolite to stare."
He suppressed a smile and watched as the kitten scurried between his feet and
out into the house. "I'm going to get you a newspaper."
Toby followed the cat out of the room and shut the door behind him. C.J.
emerged from the tub, leaving the bubbles on her skin as she wrapped herself
in her robe. Smiling to herself, she plucked the glass from the floor and
sauntered into the kitchen, where she waited to pour him a drink.
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