Lone Closet

It was a few minutes past 4.00am and Mensima was already awake. She sat at the edge of her bed, with her head in her hands, her shoulder-length hair falling in tendrils around her fingers. She breathed heavily. Someone moaned behind her on the bed and she nearly jumped up with fright, her heart leapt.

“Really? Mensima!”

she whispered to herself and got up, took some minutes to find her bathrobe and finally covered her nakedness. The middle-aged man stretched, letting out that annoying moan that always got on Mensima’s nerves. The cover cloth fell off, revealing his morning erection. She grunted in disgust and walked out into the kitchen.

That’s the fourth in a week, Mensima!

She thought as she put water on her two-burner stove to boil. She sat down on a low stool, stretched out her legs and sighed. She had less than 3 hours to get rid of the semi-stranger in her bed, change the sheets, soak them, have her bath and get ready for work. The day before, she had ran late because the “friend” she had brought home happened to be a deep sleeper…she had to drag him off the bed by his feet, and it wasn’t till his head hit the uncarpeted floor did he wake. He had thought it funny and it took all the gods responsible for self-control to keep her from hitting his head with the wine bottle they’d left somewhere on the floor the night before.

She got up and walked back to the bedroom, pausing a while at the entrance as she stared at the tall, muscular, brown body sprawled on her sheets. Keeping her eyes off his shaft, which just some few hours back, had been deep down her throat. She cringed at the image that popped in her head and froze suddenly, realizing she had forgotten his name. A slight wave of shame washed over her but she quickly brushed it aside and slapped his chest.

“Wake up, it’s morning!”

He stretched again and turned his back to her.

“What, another deep sleeper?!”

She took him by a foot and was about to pull when he stirred.

“Thank God!”

she sighed and stepped back, her hands on her waist. He lingered for a while and then sat up, beaming at her.

“Did I tell you how much I love fair ladies, Sims?”

He rasped.

Sims? How dare he call me that?

Mensima fumed. Only her closest friends called her that. And they were just three.

“You have to leave now, I’m running late.”

“Oh really? Where are you off to so early my fair queen?”

She swallowed a harsh response and smiled slightly.

“To work. Now please, get dressed and get going.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down.”

She walked out again, leaving him to dress up. Minutes later he walked into the kitchen and hugged her from behind. Squirming, Mensima wriggled out of his arms, and saw him to the front door.

“I left my number on the table”

He said just before she closed the door. Turning her back to the door, she leaned her back to it and sighed again.

“I still don’t remember your name”

she mouthed, as if he’d hear her.

She went back in the room and opened a single wardrobe in one corner of the room. It had been a while since she saw the habit that she had worn with near-pride just some 5 years ago.

She sighed and closed the door. Turning back, she tripped on the bottle and fell.

“Talk of falling off the wagon,”

she half-grunted, half-laughed with metallic precision and turned over onto her back, staring straight at the ceiling till the tears blurred her vision.


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