Chew

There was something about him that made her doubt everything he said. The way he said a simple yes, a simple no; just the way he looked at a person, the way he looked at himself. He would cock his head, close his eyes; heave in heavy breaths that slowly let out through his nostrils, the way the hairs of his moustache flutter at each breath.

The way he chewed his food.

The way he ate his meat; dribbles of meat juice slowly wriggled down his stubbly chin. The way he chewed meat, his mouth open; bits and pieces of meat almost escaping each chew, his teeth grinding on the rough, tough meat; meat, meat, meat.

She felt the meat on her skin. Her skin felt like meat. The way he would chew. She felt it everywhere. The way he was. The way he is. His teeth grinding.

She couldn’t escape that feeling.

“One day, things will be different.” He’d say. “Things won’t be as they are.”

He continued to chew.

She closed her eyes, resting her head against the window sill. She didn’t know what to say. She never knew what to say.

“Can you believe it’s been a year?” He asked.

Maybe she had nothing to say.

She shook her head. “No.”

The difference between she and him is that he didn’t lack purpose. He had a purpose, even if the purpose was lacking.

He kept chewing.

“Can we continue.”

It wasn’t even a question; his voice echoing the same thing over and over again. That same thing.

Fall.

Fall.

Fall.

And then he’d wait.

He’d sit there staring not saying a word. He would just stare. His lips would close and his fingers would caress them over and over again. He would wet his lips and his fingers would moisten. The caressing continued.

His eyes just there.

She would close her eyes.

“Can we continue?” She would ask.

She was letting go.

He didn’t say a word. His fingers moved over her lips. His fingers touching, evaporating; her skin was dimming. That feeling of chewing, grinding, eating.

It consumed and it ate. He consumed. He ate, and ate, and ate and ate.

She would give in until there was nothing left.