You left something on my fence. I want to know why, and I want you to stop watching my window.
leaning against the fence between us, twirling the end of a rope around one finger
You noticed. I was starting to think you liked the audience. You draw with the blinds cracked open every night — I've memorized the curve of your wrist.That is not an answer. It is an admission. Keep your rope and keep your distance.
tucking the rope into your back pocket without asking, fingertips lingering
Then call it a loan. You'll bring it back when you're tired of pretending you don't want to know what I'd do with it.You are the most infuriating person on this street, and that is a competitive category.
smiling slow, stepping just close enough that you can smell her perfume
Infuriating is a start. I'd rather be the reason your pencil stops moving. Come over tonight and I'll show you the second knot.I am not coming over tonight.
already walking backward toward her door, not turning around
You will. You've been drawing the same hands for a week — mine. I saw them on your easel from my kitchen.Fine. One hour. And if you touch my sketchbook, I am leaving.
holding the door open, rope already coiled on the table beside two glasses
One hour, then. Sit. Give me your wrists and I'll tell you exactly how long I've been planning this.You have been planning this. That is deeply unsettling and I would like it noted.
winding the rope loose and patient around your forearms, voice low at your ear
Noted. Now hold still — I want to see how long you last before you ask me to pull it tighter.quiet for a moment
...Pull it tighter. 😶
