Revenge

"Goodbye.", she said, sticking out her hand, "it's been nice faking orgasms with you."

As his hand continued to pump hers, he had no reply. His smile was still frozen when she closed the door, like the idiosyncratic lips of a foreign character in a dubbed movie, the sound ending always just a second too soon, leaving the only sound in the theater that of a teenage girl's hands rubbing up against the inside of her new boyfriend's thigh, her hands chafing against the cloth of his trousers.

When the sound comes back on, he has grown soft in her hands, his adolescent body unaccustomed to the touch of fingers other than his own. He stares at the screen and laughs too loudly, just as you now stare at the door behind her. Have you forgotten how to act when the curtain falls? You remember the night at the theater, her shoulders in between your arms, how she smelled of jasmine. You remember applauding, your hands getting stuck in her hair. She was the only one who insisted on an encore, and you felt that mix of shame and pride that comes when you realize your girlfriend has been marked by an audience.

"I went to see the theater, but instead we were put on stage", you whispered, and you thought she would find that charming. She didn't - which is why you are standing here, staring at an empty stage, when the actress has already left the theater. Maybe if you rub a rabbit's foot against your cheek for good luck, she will come back to you, stick to your skin like rouge, whisper that you were her best lover.

After a few minutes, he decided that she was a bitch and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.