I sat and watched the dancingthe DJ was back behind the decks,
and had selected a cacophonous racket from a silver box of records, something about a man after midnight.
I allowed my mind to wander. I’ve found this to be a very effective way of passing the time;
you take a situation or a person and start to imagine nice things that might happen.
You can make anything happen, anything at all, inside a daydream.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. “Sorry,” Raymond said. “I nipped to the Gents, got talking to someone on the way back.”
I felt the heat where his hand had been; it was only a moment, but it left a warm imprint, almost as though it might be visible.
A human hand was exactly the right weight, exactly the right temperature for touching another person, I realized.
I’d shaken hands a fair bit over the years—more so recently —but I hadn’t been touched in a lifetime.
Of course, Declan and I had had regular sexual intercourse, whenever he wanted to, but he never really touched me.
He made me touch him, told me how and when and where, and I did so.
I had no choice in the matter, but I remembered feeling like another person at those times, like it wasn’t my hand, like it wasn’t my body.
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