I don’t wake up next to her, but I know she’s here. She always tucks me in when she has to get up, and her uniform is on my bedroom floor. I’m also clean, which means she must’ve ran me a bath after last night. And I’ll have to wash my sheets; the smell of her is all over them- sandalwood, French vanilla, and coffee. Delicious, mouthwatering.

I don’t dislike her smell, but I know if I don’t wash the sheets it’s all I’ll be thinking about, and I really don’t have time to touch myself. She comes creeping back into bed, trying to be quiet as she slides back into bed. “Hey, why are you up, hmm? Go back to sleep, baby.” She whispers, sliding in behind me to rub my back. Her arm slides around my waist, and I turn sleepily to her.

I make a small noise of recognition, and she pulls me closer with a soft kiss. I smile- something sleepy and uncharacteristically sweet as I tuck my head against her neck. She skin is damp and she smells like the cheap Dove soap I use, so she must’ve left to shower. Every time there’s a rattle or the noise of a drunkard outside, she stirs. She’s not used to poor neighbourhoods, and has trouble adjusting. She even brought her dog, an ex-military German Shepherd named Rusty.

The dog sleeps at my feet on the bed, growling when it hears something too close. Even her damned dog has decided this shitbox is worth protecting. I shiver, and she holds me tighter. I find myself quite comfortable, for the first time in many years. I fall asleep, truly asleep, against her chest.

She must fall asleep too, because by the time I’m up, she’s still sleeping. I allow her some more time holding me as she dozes, until it becomes a threat to the image I’ve created for myself- not that her whole existence and how she makes me feel is a total one-eighty from everything I’ve ever said I wanted from a relationship- the biggest one being that I thought there would be more dick involved.

I allow myself a few moments to watch her, before I snap myself out of it. I know better than to get attached, because it doesn’t lay and you get hurt. It’s common sense, really. I fuck her to sleep, pocket cash from her wallet, then kick her out. It’s my routine, and I never stray from it. So why is she still in bed, holding me like I mean anything?