Coupling

by Justine Sargent | @jnsargent

his laughter crawls lazily, syrupy.

blue eyes meet mine, the moment

washed in molasses. his feet planted like

stalks and mine tucked for warmth. our bodies

warming by the minute. his arm rests passively behind

me, reaching, not quite an invitation but a

benign beckoning. he’s so complacent.

he’ll never understand me.

“what should we watch tonight?” something

violent? sexy? absurd? an american

werewolf in london, to lighten the mood. the

infatuated lovers couple and

crawl on-screen. sex and wolf-men, wolves,

more-than-human bodies. his soft

fingers move listlessly like blades of

grass, foregrounding the night blue

fabric. the wolfman chases a man in the

subway, no longer himself. arranging my

body, looser, elongating curves and womanly

limbs. just like a murder scene – hide the body,

hide the body. don’t look at me. he’s half-hard.

a woman cries on-screen: “david, please let me

help you.” wolf growls and wolf teeth –

trapped in the alley. he stretches and groans –

feet tap, toes curl – claws. he eyes my chest

in his periphery. the wolfman is shot dead, violent and

absurd. his fingers tap a steady rhythm

close to my head. he wants something but won’t

say its name. the screen fades to

black, credits roll, basking in afterglow like

benediction. did you like the movie? he

laughs, inaccessible to me. “yeah, sure.”

more police sirens, another groan,

another second drips sweetly

over my soft body, splayed –

half-woman and

half-dead.

~

Justine Sargent (she/they) is a writer and publishing professional based in the San Francisco Bay Area.