Single-sided Scotch

He wouldn’t mind the stickiness if it weren’t for the sound. As it was, the unspooling squeal and the grabbing of teeth he seemed to feel every time they were together anymore was getting to be too much. It was merely moving from one binding coil to another, the only difference that being flattened out by expectations made the clinging much more difficult.

In his singular loop, there was the weight of himself and the gravity of bending inward to keep him anchored. It was almost comfortable in its easy familiarity. It was ordered, the circle perfect in its continuous connection with itself; the unbrokeness of the center.

But every pull reminded him of two things: he was responsible and getting thinner every time she touched him.