<\/p>\n
All night, I keep watch; breathe in on his outbreath, drawing his air into my body. He stares blankly, focussed on a point above our heads. I stroke his ear, but he doesn\u2019t react. Maybe he sleeps with his eyes open. All of them, including the hundreds in his wings. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" All night, I keep watch; breathe in on his outbreath, drawing his air into my body. He stares blankly, focussed on a point above our heads. I stroke his ear, but he doesn\u2019t react. Maybe he sleeps with his eyes open. All of them, including the hundreds in his wings. I pad to the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":344,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[396,394],"tags":[398],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nI pad to the bathroom, grimace in the mirror. My hair is wadded onto one side of my head, teeth as stained as yesterday. I thought I\u2019d be transfigured.
\nI call my mother. It goes to voicemail. You never believed in me<\/em>, I say.
\nWhen I return, he\u2019s in the same position: arms crossed, wings splayed over the mattress. I need his heat. The way he touched me. I tug a wingtip, pull out a quill. He doesn\u2019t stir. I yank hard and the whole thing comes away, like ripping a page out of a spiral-bound notebook.
\nHe yawns, stretches, sees me standing there with my arms full of feathers. He raises an eyebrow, says something that sounds like fleshdirt<\/em>. I\u2019m staring so hungrily I miss it. Before I can ask, he starts to ascend. I leap across the bed, grab his remaining wing. He shrugs it off like an unwanted garment and rises through the ceiling, leaving a scorch mark on the plasterwork and blowing the electrics.
\nThe room reeks of ozone. I slump on the bed, gazing at the wings flopped on the carpet. I thought there\u2019d be blood and pain. I nudge them with a toe, expecting them to flap around the room, trying to escape. They don\u2019t budge. I lift one, press the stump against my shoulder. It fizzes weakly, like licking a battery. I hold it to my nipple and it reminds me of his mouth.
\nColour rubs off, dusting my fingers with a lustre that fades as soon as it comes into contact with skin. That night, I arrange them beneath me, arms crossed over my breasts so he knows how to claim me.
\nBy morning, the eyes have clouded over and are dull as beach glass. I nail them to the wall above the bed, so I can\u2019t damage them any further. I sleep soundly under their protection, until the maggots find them.
\nI count the weeks, feeling myself change from the inside. Buy a test, wait for the blue line. It\u2019s a false negative. Could hardly be anything else. I call my ex-husband, tell him I don\u2019t need him any more. Tell him I\u2019m complete. He says I need help, and do I know what time it is. Woman\u2019s voice in the background, hissing, her again<\/em>.
\nDon\u2019t call me her<\/em>, I hiss back, even though the line\u2019s gone dead.
\nI call my mother and say, just you wait<\/em>.
\nIt could come at any time. It could take years. I tell myself this is joy.<\/p>\n