Labored breaths curse the air to the left of her head, tangled hair splayed against a satin pillowcase, eyes trapped in the beige ceiling paint. Sweat beads on her skin, bare beneath a pale pink sheet.
She’s more prone to boredom than most, she knows that. Her mind needs more stimuli or the boredom becomes intolerable, unbearable at times.
Oliver’s become boring, the thrill of their deceit faded long ago, the satisfaction of surviving the relationship he helped take part in destroying has gone too. Now, her connection to him feels stagnant, there’s nothing worthwhile there anymore.
Though his current role in her life is important for her games, for now she’ll have to suffer through the dullness that occasionally comes along with it.
Weight shifts on the bed before she’s lying on it alone, she turns and plucks a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand, American Spirits. Then lights it as she leans back on her elbows, smoke engulfs the space around her as she locks eyes with him. He’s pulling his trousers up and buttoning them.
“I have to meet with the band in an hour.” Oliver’s lying again, his voice gets a bit higher when he does that. Not that it matters, he’s not cheating just picked up a habit he can’t shake and is in need of some more pearly white powder and isn’t keen on sharing it. She knows that already.
“I might have wished you more honest, but then what would we have had in common?” Nora says amusingly, smiling before she inhaled another puff of smoke. Oliver’s face distorts in confusion, like it so often does. He doesn’t get it, but that’s fine. That’s expected.
“Brenna Twohy. She’s a poet, from the states. California if my memory serves me right, which it usually does.” She explains, though by the looks of it, Oliver still isn’t connecting the dots correctly. Maybe not even at all.
Nora’s eyes roll all playful like. His constant state of perplexity was endearing at times, annoying at others. “Don’t bother trying to figure it out, baby. Have fun with your friends, there’s a hundred pounds in the draw just there” Her fingers point, cigarette clasped between them, towards her dresser. “Bring me back some, won’t you?”
Oliver’s getting it now, but doesn’t argue his innocence. Instead he pulls his jumper over his head and walks over to the drawer, pocketing the bills once it’s open. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He leans over the bed and kisses her, she’s smirking at him when he pulls away from it.
The rooms empty save her a few moments later, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Once her cigarettes burnt out she smudges it in the ashtray next to the bed, picks her phone up and sends a text to an old friend. A much more interesting game to be played than the one that left a few minutes prior.
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