ALONE AT LAST

She lay there on her bed, alone, in the dark room. The bustling city lights danced as they seeped between the shades of the bedroom window. She lay quietly and listened to the noises coming from below. She could hear kids playing, a couple arguing, and a few men laughing. It was summer. The city was alive—but not her.

She lay there still, motionless, her arms by her side. Not sure what she was waiting for. She imagined someone from upstairs peering down through a hole in the ceiling—she would seem dead to them. Her mind shifted. She was sure her bare back was leaving a sweat stain on the mattress, but she was too tired to get up and get a towel to protect it.

She was not used to this. Being alone. Despite the noise from outside her window, the silence brought a smile and a sense of calm to her. She felt at peace. She was told that once she got used to this, it would become a miserable time of day, but that was for another time to worry about. For now, she was content.

As she stared up aimlessly at the ceiling, she noticed her hands had moved from their resting place next to her thighs and were caressing her body. She could not recall how long she had been doing this, but the sensation of her hands on her warm skin brought her pleasure. She tried to think back to the last time she had pleased herself. She couldn’t. Surely she had done this before, but her brain could not recall.

Her body felt warm and slick under her touch. At first, her hands were moving randomly, still detached from her thoughts. Then she found herself being more purposeful. Her breasts were no longer firm but had a softness she appreciated. The skin on her stomach was tighter lying down, but the folds under her fingertips were there—reminders of the love she had given other beings in her life.

She started to drift off to sleep while her hands were busy reacquainting themselves with her newfound aloneness. Right before she fell into a deep sleep, she promised herself she would do this again tomorrow.