While she was inside his flat it has started raining. Very fine rain. She hesitates in the doorway for a moment before stepping out, but when she steps out she barely feels it. She feels quite light, floaty, pleasantly empty. She walks to the bus stop through the very fine rain.
As she waits, she inspects the tenements opposite. Blank grey windows. If anyone looked out from those windows they wouldn’t necessarilyseeher. She doesn’t think she stands out from any of the other people at the bus stop. She dressed simply, the way he likes: dark blue dress. Flats. Hair up. She might be on the way home from work.
Nobody looking at her from across the street would so much as notice her.
And thus it feels like a secret that her lover’s come is still inside her – that she can feel it every now and then moving in her cunt, a drip slipping from her to soak into her underwear. And like a secret too that the skin on her cheek still burns – faintly, cooled by the rain – where he slapped her. And that her throat is sore from the noises she made as he fucked her, and from the other things he did.
