I watched the rise and fall of his breath.

The curves of his chest, intrigued me, enticed me.

I wanted to run my hands over him.

As I lay there, I realized I was by no means his muse or the object of inspiration for him. I was a caretaker, a second choice.

I wasn’t the woman that made his pulse race; I was what he settled for. I was his prize, the trophy girl, that could be shown off to everyone and he could boost about. I was the one thing that tied him to some since of normalcy.

He didn’t love me, he loved the idea of me, what I represented. He wasn’t capable of loving me, or giving back even one tenth of what I had given him.

I reached out to touch him, he turned away.

Short in Development

3:00 a.m. I lit my cigarette in the dark. You slept in my bed. You always slept on your stomach; arms wrapped tightly around your pillow. You always slept with your head turned to the left, away from me. Even though we shared a bed from the first night we met, I’d always slept alone.

5:35 a.m. I watched the rise and fall of your chest. You were oblivious to the morning light that slowly crept into the room through the blinds. You’d been oblivious of me from the start. I lit another cigarette.

5:43 a.m. I slide from our bed, grabbed my cigarettes from the nightstand and walked to the bathroom. I closed the door gently behind me and slid to my knees and rested on the floor. I wished the aching in my stomach would just finish consuming me. I sat there for what felt like an eternity there, paralyzed. Stabs of pain rippled through my stomach from the “love” - if you could even call it that - we shared for the past four months. Those four months had felt like four years.

I smashed my cigarette in the ashtray. Rising, I looked in the mirror, last night’s mascara was still streaked my eyes. You had grabbed me in the rain last night; you wouldn’t let me go. Wasn’t that our mistake from the beginning, you wouldn’t let me go when you should’ve? Maybe I should’ve left you.

I looked sadistic, almost sinister, with the black liquid caked under my eyes. I smirked and laughed to myself, thinking this is more the looked you preferred in your women; hardened, cheap and rough. I wiped it off like I was wiping the mess that was our relationship away.

7:52 a.m. I slowly peeled myself off the bathroom floor; I walked back across the room to the chair and sat down, tucking my legs underneath me. I watched you for the next hour and a half.

9:22 a.m. You woke up and realized that I wasn’t there. Funny, for the first time in four months you noticed I wasn’t there. You had been physically present, you had even been inside me, but I don’t think you had ever BEEN there with me. You turned and looked at me, stretching your arm out for me to, your eyes asking me to come back to bed. I was unable to move; my legs weighted to the seat. I shook my head “no”. I was done, there was nothing left to say, we’d said it all.

I turned my head away and closed my eyes. Trying to imagine something different. There were no tears left, there was nothing but numbness followed by some exquisite pain from being free of constant emotional rape. I turned my head to star out my window. I starting thinking of the day I had moved to New York.

9:33 a.m. I heard you get up and dress. You closed the door softly behind you as you left; it was a whisper of what we had. I moved to the window and leaned out. I watched you walk down my brownstone’s steps, your turn to look at me. You finally realized it too. I watched you walk down 11th street and turn left. You were gone. I continued to star out the window, peace soon encompassed me.

Welcome to Studio Erotica. We are excited to launch site and hope you enjoy our productions.

Dan Dubelman & Callie Simms