by Kailash Srinivasan

The man snored beside her. Great hair, smooth chest, clean crotch. 

Tinder had been kind to her. He was her fourth this month alone. He smelled alright, even went down on her. 

She adjusted her earplugs, but the noise still cut through. It had been a week since the man and woman had been seeing each other. Multiple dates, movies, coffees, take-outs. It had been a week since she slept. The sex was good, not good enough to lose sleep.

She kicked his shin. The man stirred. The snoring stopped. She closed her eyes. Seconds later, it started again. A lawnmower swallowing a cat. She elbowed him. When he woke up, she pretended to be asleep. 

“Did you hit me?’ he asked. “Someone hit me.”

“Huh? What? She replied groggily, turning.

Peace again. A tree branch scratched her bedroom window. A bird trilled.

She smiled, inhaled deeply, sank into sleep. But just as she stepped inside a warm dream, the snoring dragged her back out.

“Fuck.” 

Slowly, she inched her hand towards his throat. 

* * *

Kailash Srinivasan is a writer residing in Vancouver. His work has appeared in The Selkie, Antilang, Oyster River Pages, Sidereal, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Bad Nudes, Lunch Ticket, OxMag, Going Down Swinging, Regime, Tincture, and others. He has been shortlisted for Into the Void Fiction Prize and longlisted for the Bath Short Story Award and Bristol Short Story Prize. He is currently at work on his first novel.