Our Pride

I can see the sun

like a crowbar

around the edges of the blackout curtains.

That's my signal;

it's time to sleep.

Vicky peers meekly

into the crack in the door,

her big brown eyes signaling

she needs to come in.

She just got done

fucking my ex boyfriend

in the upstairs room

where she's staying.

She walks into the room,

naked,

and saying nothing.

I say nothing.

We just look at each other

square in the eyes,

verklempt

with some dichotomous combination of emotions.

She reaches for me

and I wrap my arms

around her naked body.

And I can feel the emotion

like a fog fusing our bodies into place,

becoming stronger as we connect.

Vicky starts shaking.

We both start to cry.

It was the best hug I've ever had.

With Shane,

she used her body.

And with me,

her mind.

Eventually,

Shane peers into the room

and Vicky puts on a robe

and takes her pills.

I take my pills.

And we all eat waffles

like we're one big happy family.

This was my first attempt

at leaving the scandalous business.

This was my first attempt

at some semblance of normalcy.

This was the first time

I told Vicky I loved her.

We could only speak

with emotions

in a world

where we existed

to please men.

When Vicky told me,

it was the best hug

she'd ever had,

I knew she felt the same.

And when she crawled

under the covers with me,

later that afternoon,

her tattooed arms around me,

I could finally

exhale.

And we sank into

these small, invisible moments

in the corners of our lives,

where we began to nurture

the only thing

in our shameful lives

that made us feel any pride.