She asked him just to look at her. 'Don't touch me', she reiterated and moved away, an inch or two. He was shocked by how voluntarily he obeyed her. And then she began talking, about how she had never been appreciated, never been eaten with eyes. Between sobs, deep breaths, she again pushed him away, when he tried to touch her. With the tip of his finger, just to see if she was there. For real. For he was sloshed. And she was half-high, half-naked. And talking. Wildly.
'Dangerous woman, this one is', he thought. 'Her species, worth having for once, never for keeps'.
Between sips of the drink that he had placed on the night stand after carrying it upstairs, he saw the skin of her neck shine. Shimmer in the red bed-light. Against the shadows of leaves outside, on the window pane. Almost asleep, he realized, he wasn't listening to her at all.
Out of guilt and shame, he stretched his eyes open and began listening.
She had neatly placed her right palm on her chest and was saying that she wanted to withdraw something she had said earlier that night. 'Erase any memory of me having said it. Was preposterous', she whispered, leaning closer, still out of touch.
'Said what? What did you say?'
'That all women are the same neck down. I said that.'
'You did? Don't remember.'
'I did, and you had agreed. Downstairs. How could you agree?'
Now she was fuming. He could feel the heat in her ears. The whim to burst open, in her gut.
'All women aren't the same neck down. You see, just below the neck, is this thing.' She slapped her hand on her heart.