The Weight of Water Read Online Free PDF

stood in the
     center. Thomas lay on his back on the bed, which was too short for him. I removed his boots and sat on a chair by the desk.
     Thomas’s feet were white and smooth. His stomach was concave and made a slight hollow under his belt. One of the legs of his
     trousers had ridden up to expose an inch of skin above his sock. I thought he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
    When I knew that he was asleep, I slipped a hand into his trouser pocket and removed the folded piece of paper. I took it
     to the window, where there was a slit in the curtain. I read the poem in the street light.
    After a time, I put a finger to the skin at his shin. I traced the scar on his face, and he twitched in his sleep. I put my
     palm on the place where his belly dipped. The heat of his skin through his shirt surprised me, as though he were running a
     temperature, as though the inner mechanisms of his body burned inefficiently.
    I slipped into the bed and lay beside him. He turned onto his side, facing me. It was dark in the room, but I could see his
     face. I could feel his breath on my skin.
    “You brought me home,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “No, I know you don’t.”
    “I drink too much.”
    “I know.” I brought my hand up, as though I might touch him, but I didn’t. I laid my hand between our faces.
    “Where are you from?” he asked me.
    “Indiana.”
    “A farm girl.”
    “Yes.”
    “Seriously?”
    “I’ve been in Boston since I was seventeen.”
    “School.”
    “And after.”
    “The after sounds interesting.”
    “Not very.”
    “You don’t miss Indiana?”
    “Some. My parents are dead. I miss them more.”
    “How did they die?”
    “Cancer. They were older. My mother was forty-eight when I was born. Why are you asking me these questions?”
    “You’re a woman in my bed. You’re an attractive woman in my bed. Why did you stay here tonight?”
    “I was worried about you,” I said. “What about your parents?”
    “They live in Hull. I grew up in Hull. I have a brother.”
    “How did you get this?” I reached up and touched the scar on his face.
    He flinched, and he turned onto his back, away from me.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “No, it’s all right. It’s just…”
    “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”
    “No.” He brought an arm up and covered his eyes. He was so still for so long that I thought he had fallen asleep.
    I shifted slightly in the bed with the intention of getting up and leaving. Thomas, feeling the shift, quickly lifted his
     arm from his eyes and looked at me. He grabbed my arm. “Don’t go,” he said.
    When he rolled toward me, he unfastened one button of my shirt, as though by that gesture he would prevent me from leaving.
     He kissed the bare space he had made. “Are you with anyone?”
    “No,” I said. I put my fingers on his face, but I was careful not to touch the scar.
    He unfastened all the buttons. He opened my shirt and laid the white cloth against my arms. He kissed me from my neck to my
     stomach. Dry lips. Light kisses. He rolled me away from him, pulling my shirt down below my shoulders. He lay behind me, encircling
     me, pressing his palms into my stomach. My arms were pinned beneath his, and I felt his breath on the nape of my neck. He
     pushed himself hard against my thigh. I bent my head slightly forward, letting go, letting this happen to me, to us, and I
     felt his body stretch with mine. I felt his tongue at the top of my spine.
    Sometime later that night, I was awakened by a ragged moan. Thomas, naked, was sitting at the edge of the bed, the heels of
     his hands digging angrily into his eye sockets. I tried to pull his hands away before he injured himself. He fell back onto
     the bed. I turned on a light.
    “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s nothing,” he whispered. “It’ll pass.”
    His jaw was clenched, and his face had gone a sickly white. It couldn’t simply be