THE HONEYMOON SUITE
Dedicated to kitschy love motels and honeymoon resorts
A neon, flashing sign from the interstate tells you two: “vacancy”. The lace of your dress itches your skin. You want it off. He does too. A hand on your knee as he drives the cherry red convertible down the neverending highway. You feel it inching upward.
You’re in his arms as he carries you over the threshold of your rented room. Everything exists in velvety shades of pink and red. A heart-shaped bed next to a matching heart-shaped tub. Reflections of a disco ball bounce off the mirrored ceilings.
The ring feels heavy on your finger. He places you down gently on the bed. The comforter beneath you is scratchy and well-loved. You are not the first lovers to have known this room, and you won’t be the last. But it’s yours for a fleeting night. You’re somewhere else now. The sounds of the highway are faint, a forgotten memory. It’s just you and him.
A dreamy tune starts playing. You can’t tell from where. It doesn’t matter to you. The lights feel hazy. He opens champagne. You watch it fizz and spill onto the floor. Neither one of you cares.
The tub starts filling with water and bubbles. It smells sickly sweet. He unzips your dress. You try to find a safe place to hang it, but can’t. It wasn’t really yours anyway. You feel his eyes on you. His hands waiting to touch. He doesn’t know when to start. Neither do you, but you can pretend.
You sink into the water and you wonder if you can stay in here forever. Swimming circles around the heart-shaped tub for all eternity like some love motel mermaid. The jets push water at your back, at your legs. He just watches you.
Don’t you want to get in? You ask him.
I just want to watch you for a bit. He replies.
He’s always like this. Even after you two get married. He never thinks he’s good enough. Good enough for you. He can admire you like a decaying painting in a museum and appreciate you, but won’t dare get close.
You want to tell him that he’s the only one who’s ever really deserved you. You made up your mind a long time ago that it was going to be him.
He still treats you like a skittish animal. One that may run away at the slightest loud noise. He doesn’t think that you want to stay. You don’t know how else to tell him. Except maybe like this.
I want you in here, with me, you tell him, looking up at him with lidded eyes. The heat of the water has made your cheeks flush and your hair curl into soft ringlets. He looks at you like you are the only thing alive. You think for a second you might be.
And then he’s taking off his suit, his slightly crooked tie. A body that’s strong. A body that can hold and protect you. Hands that can heal or hurt, whatever you ask him to do first.
You rest your arms on the ledge of the tub and watch him, the bubbles getting stuck in the ends of your hair. Something knots in your stomach, but you can’t quite figure out what.
And then he’s in the water, and you finally feel him next to you. Skin touching, wet, and soft. He brings the champagne in the tub with him. He tilts your head back and you open your mouth, tasting the light bubbly liquid going down your throat as he pours it. Some of it spills onto you and into the water.
His hands are all over you. Your bodies tangle underneath the surface of the water, invisible because of the thick layer of bubble bath. You don’t need to see him. You could find him in the darkest night if you had to. He clings to you like he’ll drown if he doesn’t. So you let him hold. You let him cling. You let him need you.
He told you once, a long time ago, how badly he needed someone. Someone who would care for him. He hadn’t ever really had that before. And as he talked you thought how familiar it sounded. The same words bounced around your head.
You realized that you could be the someone he needed. And he could be the someone you needed. Together you could make it better. Love is filling the broken cracks of one another, you’ve learned. Two people who fought to be cared for. Two people that had to learn to live without love because when they tried to find it, it always chewed on some part of them and then left them bleeding. Two people that stumbled to each other at their lowest and most bitter, and found solace at last.
You’re out of the tub. He’s carrying you to the bed. You worry he’ll slip on the ledge and send you both into hard stone. The gory thought scares you, but at least you’d die with him, the two of you together in all things. He doesn’t slip through. You let yourself be relieved.
Soon you’re staring at several versions of yourself on the reflective ceiling panels. You’re naked and slick with water droplets, your hair fanned out around you. And you realize that he’s looking at you too. At the foot of the bed, afraid to inch any closer. God, you want him to. You want to be shoved around these sheets, static clinging to your skin, the sound of it crackling like a campfire. You want to be tossed around the expanse of the novelty mattress, contorted to be enjoyed at all angles.
Come here. Touch me, you tell him.
It’s all he needs.
And suddenly you’re every pair of lovers that have ever driven across the country. You’re every wedding cake topper.
His big hands make you feel smaller than you are. Feeling small is hard for you. Maybe that’s why you love him.
Hands on you. Hands finding places that they know well. Hands covering your mouth. Your hands on his back, nails in his skin. Screams stifled into his shoulder.
The champagne makes you feel like your body is a church prayer candle, warm and luminescent. Burning on his altar. You’re afraid that if his hands linger too long anywhere, you’ll burn him with how hot you’re running. Limbs heavy, nothing but trust for the man above you.
As a tween, you were an expert at fixing dolls. Knew how to tighten their limbs by taking all their stuffing out and pulling all the joints taunt. Now you are beginning to feel what those dolls felt like. Gutted and filled, limbs reset. Pulled apart to come back together again.
Sophie, 22, London - UK ✯
“Screenwriting student. An American lost in London for the year. Public park enthusiast. Believes going to the cinema is a holy ritual.”