Page 62 of Heathens
“Hello, Rosemary. Staying cool this morning?”
She frowns and then looks at me. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” Her thin eyebrows quirk up. I stifle a laugh. She did, in fact, see me leave yesterday. She turns her gaze to Salem. “I heard a joke yesterday that I thought you’d enjoy. Satan called, and he wants his weather back.”
To my surprise, Salem laughs—genuinely laughs. “I haven't heard that one before.“
She gives him a flirtatious smile. “So much for being celibate, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
I choke. “I can assure you, his celibacy is intact,” I explain, feeling Salem’s eyes on me as my neck and chest flush. “We just fell asleep at his apartment.”
“Mmm,” she mumbles as I search for my keys. “Well, I may be old, but I will say this. A boiling day like today is made better with sweaty morning sex and then a cup of iced coffee.”
Salem bursts out laughing, and I suddenly feel hot—sohot. “Thanks, Rosemary. Have a good day!” I finally unlock the door.
“Loyalty and orgasms. That’s all any woman wants,” Rosemary finishes, and I wonder if she has dementia. Salem doesn’t stop laughing behind me as I navigate getting through the door. “And food. Don’t forget the food!” Scrambling in, I close the door quickly, cutting her off and saving myself from further embarrassment.
“Sorry, she’s like the crazy aunt who has no boundaries.” I reach down for Jekyll automatically and scoop him up into my arms. He starts to purr immediately.
“I think it’s great. In fact, I think everyone needs a Rosemary in their life.”
I chuckle. Jekyll hops down and trots to his food bowl. “Would you mind feeding him? There’s food in the cabinet above the stove. I’m going to go take a bath.” I stand and face him, and his eyes find mine, full of something fierce—like he’s ravenous, and I’m a giant donut. A deep, pulsing ache begins to claw its way through my limbs, down my spine... settling between my legs. And then I remember the way his kiss made me feel yesterday, the passion and toe-curling of just his lips on mine, the way my body moved with his...
“Have a good bath,“ he says simply, blinking. He moves to the cabinet, and I shuck off the disappointment as I walk into the bathroom. Horrified, I inspect my reflection. Has my mascara been caked on my cheeks all morning? And my hair... I spy at least two knots—the downfall of sleeping with long hair. Sighing, I turn the bath on. I hardly ever use the shower head, instead opting to bathe the old-fashioned way in the old, porcelain tub. As it fills, I take my clothes off. An awareness pebbles over me as I realize Salem could be right on the other side of the door. I thought the same thing while he was in the shower earlier—so close, yet so far away. Like the energy and inferno between us can't be contained to simple, wooden doors—like it penetrates all barriers.
After our kiss yesterday, we never really establishedwhatwe were to each other. Hints and murmurs, whispers as we embraced... nothing definitive. In fact, for all I know, he is still celibate. From what I remember growing up, kissing wasnotthe same thing as sex. Technically, he hadn't broken any rules yet. Maybe he didn't want to have sex ever again. Perhaps I was misinterpreting everything. And after discovering Father Monsignor is Auguste, I wasn't exactly primed for intimacy last night.
I walk over and turn the tub off. I clip my hair up and step into the lukewarm bath, washing quickly so that I don’t keep him waiting. When I finish draining the tub, I pull my short, silk robe around myself and walk out of the steamy, too-hot bathroom.
Salem is on the couch... Jekyll purring in his lap. “Well, well, well... look what the cat dragged in,“ I tease, smiling. Salem's eyes immediately find my bare legs, and his lips part ever so slightly. Just one tug of the robe and I could show him everything...
“I don't know what happened. He's food-driven though. We should work on that. Otherwise anyone could lure him away with a little bit of salmon delight.“
We.
I like the way thatwesounds, how easily it rolled off of his tongue.
“Just like his mother,” I joke, smiling and walking toward the bedroom. “Except my downfall is desserts, which you figured out early on.” His eyes rove over my bare legs again, settling on my neck for a second before shooting up to my eyes. “I’m going to go get changed.”
“Okay,” is his response, and I break eye contact.
A few minutes later, I’m wearing cut-off shorts and the smallest tank top I could find. I keep my hair up and, after brushing my teeth, don’t even contemplate wearing makeup in this weather. Grabbing the rolls of film on my desk, Salem stands and meets me by the darkroom door.
“I didn’t even know these things still existed,” he says, gesturing to the closed off room.
I shrug. “They're relatively easy to make, as long as you have a small workspace, a sink, and a way to make it completely light-proof. “Ready?“ He nods. “When I open the door, we have to stand between the door and curtain until I close the door. Otherwise, it'll ruin the paper.“
He just nods, too distracted by something on my shirt—or perhaps what’s underneath.
I open the door, just enough for him to squeeze through, and then close it behind us, sealing us in the tight, pitch-black space. My back brushes the thick, black canvas curtain behind me—an extra light-proofing precaution. Salem's body is pressed against me—his shirt damp with sweat, his breathing ragged. He hasn't been in Notre Dame since last night, and yet he still retains that smell—that saintly, unadulterated, opaque smell. It drives me crazy. I reach through the curtain behind me, feeling for the safe light switch that I placed just on the other side. Flipping it up, I push the curtain open, and Salem follows.
“So, how does it all work?”
I turn around and face him. His face is awash in dim, amber light, and it highlights the panes and crevices of his face. Something about Salem highlighted in red causes my stomach to flutter. He is ethereal, otherworldly.
Swallowing, I point to the film rolls he’s carrying. “Those rolls can’t be exposed to any light—not even red light, so I use these,” I explain, gesturing to the stainless steel developing tank. Once I describe the process in thorough detail, I let him test it out. Walking over to the vats, I refill them with the chemicals that are kept in thick, plastic bottles. Technically, this whole room is a fire hazard, but so is smoking, which every tenant partakes in. I turn on the fan—a low, whirring sound—and turn on the enlarger as Salem shakes the developing tank with the film inside. I laugh, and he winks. Sweat begins to drip down my spine. It’s stifling in here.
About a half hour later, after developing all of our rolls, they are hanging on the line I reserve for just this purpose. I clean the water spots off. They're ready to print. Salem wipes his brow with his shoulder, and I try to ignore the way he smells—like sweat, man, and God. Also, the way his t-shirt sticks to his chest. And his disheveled hair. His light scruff.
Just... everything about him drives me wild.
