The bedroom curtains are yellow, I notice. They’re familiar too. A girlfriend asked my opinion on the same ones at IKEA about a year ago. When I responded enthusiastically, she bought them. Together we hung them in her room that evening. Curtains didn’t distract me then. Not like they do now, as I lay bare on another’s bed. A year ago, I might’ve noticed the distinct dark hazel of her eyes. Or maybe the shade of red in her flushed cheeks, an inch above my own. But no, the colour of her curtains never distracted me.
Tonight was a different story. One of many ‘different’ stories in my recent sexual history. New women, new bedrooms, and new curtains to stare at were all things I was becoming accustomed to. There weren’t always yellow curtains though. Last time I thought I caught her perfume on the pillow. The pillow was probably more orange than yellow, but I only had myself to convince – so I did.
Tonight’s woman gives a sharp tug on my hair, pulling me back to the present. She seems to be having a good time, so I let her ride it out. I divert my attention to the music in the background, as a speaker sings from the coffee table: I’m almost me again, she’s almost you.
This article is part of our competition with as theme “yellow”.
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