the weather lady predicted a sunny day with few showers

We’re in your car, driving down this lonely street. We’ve been here before. There’s a chill in the air, we can both smell it. It creeps up slowly, a storm like this. Our stomachs know before we do, they hollow with the approaching dark clouds. They hunger. They roll. They thunder like the weather, like waves in a sea bringing in the snow and laying it on the icy shore encircling your toes. In and out. In and out, until they’re numb. You look over at me, pleading, and your hand grips mine. We need to pull over. We need a place to hide. I spot a motel down the road. Its neon sign is flashing. The manager frowns as he checks us in, he knows our kind. We take the keys from his hand and we run for our room. It’s on our heels, it’s nipping at our ankles, this fear. This god-awful fear. We let ourselves break once we close the door behind us. We are stones crashing to the floor. Our arms search for each other. It’s dark, so dark, we cannot see. You find me first and you tug at my jumper, pulling me across the floorboards. Your breath is closer now and I exhale in your direction. I find your legs and pull myself on to them. I need to get these clothes off you, they are crawling, mine are clawing, rip mine off too. You are hard and I slide onto your lap, trying desperately to push myself into you until our skin is seamlessly bound. Fingers can’t quite claw enough as you try and pull me down deeper, your face pressed tightly to mine, our tongues laced with each others wet and my legs wrapped around your waist and it’s starting to hail now. So loud, baby, it hurts my head. You’re covering my ears with your hands and the thunder seems a little fainter and I think I can breathe in again. The air seems safe, trapped between my lips and your neck. Your cheeks are soaked in tears and I nuzzle them as your heartbeat slows down and I think we’ll be o.k, you and I. We’ll be o.k.