June, Mary.

June began sleeping on her left side in the bed. She had mild hearing loss, only in one ear. If she lay with her head against a pillow, keeping her skull’s weight from the mattress, she could briefly escape from the onslaught of the litany of names.

When she had first met Marco, before they had begun to sleep together, he tiptoed around bringing her to his apartment. At first, she thought it was cleanliness. “I’ve been with other men, you know, I know how bachelors live.” He had smiled, the crinkled eye smirk that shared more with his inner dialogue than it did with her. “It’s not that,” was all he would provide in response.

June began to think they would only ever meet in her shared flat. Her roommates were often home, and the walls were paper-thin. June knew this was why she was so slow to consummate their relationship, though in social circles she presented her newfound chastity as a sign of the relationship's authenticity. Marco and June had been together a year, sleeping together for half of it, when she lost her job and could no longer afford her own place. The natural order of things was for June to move in, to sleep in Marco’s bed, to make her home alongside him. This is when she met his mattress.

“Delilah,” he said, bringing her into the room, “This is June.”

June expected a dog or a cat and looked excitedly around the room for a wagging tail. There was no animal. The room was sparse: one dresser, a bed, and a small nightstand that housed a lone clock. The immensity of the room dwarfed them.

“Delilah?” June questioned. They had been together a year, and suddenly, the questions of how well you could really know a person swarmed June’s thoughts.

“Yes, I knew it would not make sense if I told you about it; you must experience it.” Marco motioned June to the bed. “Please, lie down.”

June sat her weight on the mattress, feeling its firm softness and slid until she was lying directly in the middle. She kept her hands confined over her chest. Marco was smiling at her. She tried to match his excitement, but felt only fear. The listing began.

“Emily, Brittany, Fernanda,” June sprang up.

“What the hell?” It was a woman’s voice, a slight, throaty accent. June’s heart raced.

Marco was at her side, shushing her like a parent would an inconsolable child. “Trust, trust, trust my love,” Marco crooned. “Delilah is sharing my story, my history. Allow her to embrace you.” He pushed her back down onto the bed, and the listing commenced:

“Julia, Constance, Constantine, Emilio, Sarah, Beth, Charlie, Harper, Paula, Carole, Darcy, Elizabeth, Phillippe, Margot, Margarent, Molly, Darla, Christine, Emilio, Ruth, Anna.”

When the voice finally stopped, June dared to speak: “What was that?”

“Delilah has been with me for three years. She is my mattress, but more than that, she is my gatekeeper. I was so excited to share her with you, but nervous, yes? You see, it is a unique experience, and I did not wish to scare you.”

“Who are these people?” The question of the list and its many names consumed June, more than the whispers of the mattress itself.

“They are my past lovers, those who knew Delilah.”

“I don’t like it,” June stood to exit.

“My love, you have nowhere to go.”

June stood, motionless, caught in the truth of what Marco was saying.

Marco embraced her still body, cupping his hands behind her head, holding her taut to his form. “Delilah will sing the song of how I have come to know your body. She will rock us gently in our lovemaking. This rhythm, this ritual, it will be ours.”

Months passed. June learned to sleep on her left side. Emily, Brittany, Fernanda... became the soundtrack to her lovemaking. There were times, her body tensed up, needing lubrication for Marco to enter her, she found herself repeating the names.

Emily, Brittany, Fernanda, Julia, Constance, Constantine, Emilio, Sarah, Beth, Charlie, Harper, Paula, Carole, Darcy, Elizabeth, Phillippe, Margot, Margaret, Molly, Darla, Christine, Emilio, Ruth, Anna.

June.

Mary.