The cold hardness of the concrete beneath the thin carpet seeps through and into his bones. He is lying on her grandfather’s blanket again. The roughness of it irritates his skin.
When he had first entered the room he noticed that Angela had cut her hair and returned it to its natural colour. He thought how it softened her skin, making it even more translucent, the blue vein tracing down her left cheek like a blurred line in fine porcelain. She was already undressed. He searched for signs of the crimson bra in her pile of clothes, looked for marks on her body to see if she had been wearing it, but he could determine nothing. At first he thought she seemed a bit offhand but that had passed and they returned to their normal banter.
He shuts his eyes and imagines her sitting there, drawing him, her breasts encased in the crimson bra. He feels annoyed at her for placing him again on the grey blanket on the hard floor and for not showing gratitude for his present. But underneath the annoyance is a terrible longing. He grits his teeth and wills it to subside, to wait for darkness, for the privacy of his own room. This is private, between you and me he tells it; it has nothing to do with the girl. He concentrates his whole mind on trying to quiet the stirrings in his groin.
Tears of fury spill from his eyes and trickle down the upper side of his nose.
His penis continues to grow, protruding like a defiant limb. He listens for the faint scratch of charcoal. Yes, there it is. She said she was going to draw his back today. Please God, he prays, don’t let her see my distress. If only he could shift his pose he could cover it with his hand, or pull it down between his legs. If he keeps perfectly still maybe, just maybe, she will not notice and it will subside and, he grits his teeth, it will become the baby mouse that they had laughed about the other week.
He hears her put down her board and cross the room to stand above him. She says nothing but crouches down and begins to gently stroke his hair. He sobs and moves his hands down to cover his groin. The sobs judder through his whole body. She removes her hand. He holds his breath, waiting for her to move away. But she doesn’t and he is even more bewildered when she lies down beside him on the blanket. What is she doing? She shuffles her way inside the curl of his body. For a few moments they lie there like two spoons, his tears wetting her newly shorn hair at the nape of her neck, and then he puts his arm around her, seeks out the sweet softness of her breasts. She nuzzles her bottom against him and then, reaching behind her, she takes his penis in her hand and puts it between her legs. He pushes gently against her and, as if in a dream, enters her body.
Afterwards, he falls asleep, holding her in his arms. When he awakes he notices the light through the skylight has turned to charcoal grey. She stirs and gets up. He stays very still while she dresses, hoping she will leave in silence, but she kneels over him again and shakes him gently.
‘Edward? Come on, wake up. The caretaker will be here soon.’
They leave together in silence. Parting with a nod on the Pelican crossing.