The Weight She Keeps: Quiet Lock of Evenings - by Diana Piner

The curtains stayed closed and the phone stayed face-down. Elena kept her hand on the rough coat while Bramble’s weight pinned her thigh to the library rug, the lock already seated and holding her open around him. Wetness cooled against her skin. She did not move. She had answered the calls at first. Her mother named restaurants and men who worked in solid things; Elena said she would see. The dog’s head across her feet made refusal expensive in the ordinary way. Two evenings she let the muzzle stay under the grey sweater and told herself the heat was only warmth. On the third she worked the jeans down far enough. The knot swelled and held. She counted the radiator ticks and cleaned them both with the downstairs towel. In the morning the sofa looked the same. She cancelled the next dinner. She ended walks at the corner. Friends received three words or none. Once, an hour before her parents arrived, she knelt on the bed and came silent through the sound of their voices downstairs.