Carmelina hopes that Geronimo doesn’t speak and ruin the moment. His fabrications, which he’s worn tight against his body to maintain control of his and others’ realities, have finally unwoven.
She can’t yet tell whether they’ve given way to a new panties-clad fabrication or whether she’s peering through to skin. But she doesn’t care. She likes it! “There’s something sexy about a man who believes that he’s making the world better by posing like a stork!” she thought, a few chapters ago, when watching another man practice yoga.
Now she notices that posing like a stork is just a gateway. “Men become gods the moment they discover that they are storks rather than gods,” she says, as she takes off her shoes. And tosses them next to the size 32 panties laying next to the coffee table. And smiles. And tells him that men are like… sandstone.
“Oftentimes beautiful on the surface. But so much more interesting when they crack into two or a handful of pieces. And sediment layers become visible. Exposed to the elements. To decay. And reformation. Still one man. But not one. And no longer just facade.”
*****
He wishes for her to leave. Wishes that he could order her to leave. With strength and foreboding in his voice. So that he can continue to interweave his fabrications. Alone and devastated. But without the threat of fissure. Each layer separate from the others. The darkest layers still hidden.
“This is the worst kind of torture,” he tells her, as she touches her lips to his neck. “You want me broken. And you’re breaking me. Rendering me powerless. Forcing me to face the worst in me… in you. In your desire. My fatal character flaw turns you on! What the fuck? It turns you on!”
She grinds her hips against him. And he is repulsed. Even though her skin feels like velvet. Even though her curves are in the right places. Even though her body moves in the right ways. Because her fabrications now dominate. And all he wants is to retreat. Into his own fabric. Into his size-32 panties.
*****
“Gods are emotional, wrathful, and possess earth-altering character flaws,” she tells him. “Which is why you are a god. Because you dominate. Yet you still feel compelled to steal panties.”
She undresses him. Touches his long muscles and ashen skin. And shudders. And presses. And notices that something is different. Wrong even. Confused, she touches more. And presses harder. Until she is too exhausted to continue. And says, “I don’t get it. It’s still so…little!“
“I think you should go,” he says. “Right now. Please go!” She stares.
He lifts her. Carries her to the front door. Naked. Opens the door. Puts her outside. Shuts the door. And slumps against it. Free. From the bondage of truth. Of undesirable fabric.
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