She dressed for hours so men could notice, and took offence when they did.
Sit back down where you belong, in the corner of my bar with your high heels on.
Through double-paned glass doors, they didn't seem so unattainable. Darting past in their greys and blues and blacks, good hair, bad hair, strut strut strut. They were equally lost, asking for directions for buildings they were standing in front of. Faces dazed behind glasses too big and smartphones, running to departmental orientations and pre-sessional introductory lectures, hoping for a private moment of reckoning.
The Arab would swoop in with his Bentley and drive along her, telling her she was beautiful. She would turn right and he would rotate his car around the world and bring it to her. She would walk past, but he would come again. She never stopped. The Frenchman would smile almost unnoticeably and say 'ooh la la'. The German would lean on his elbows against her desk and ask her why not. They said she carried Mesopotamia in her eyes.
Days she knew what was going on, was in control. Nights she slipped into an abusive, dysfunctional relationship.
They drove each other to the point of insanity and then held back.
No. I want to scream No.
I want to.
I want to scream yes.
My scream will haunt you.
I'll put honeyloops in your mouth if you scream.
I want to kiss you. Till you die.
With honeyloops? Ew.
When I actually end up kissing you, keep your mouth shut.
You are such a turn off.
Like you know an alterative.
You don't have a turn-on button.
Want to frisk me?
You're such a porn star.
Haha. I love you. Good Night.
You don't love me?
You told me to keep my mouth shut.