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Why Maritza Can’t Sleep
by Terrie Leigh Relf
It’s 3 a.m. and Maritza still can’t sleep.
It could be that double mocha she had around 11p.m., topped with whipped cream, caramel and chocolate drizzles. It could also be her neighbor spewing gravel as he revs down the alley.
It could be, but it’s not.
Maritza can’t sleep because there’s an incubus in her bedroom.
She doesn’t know it yet. Well, she’s aware there’s been something more than a bit odd going on lately. How so? Well, the other night she snuggled against him, startled awake, held her noisy breath until she was certain she heard the sound of someone else breathing in the room.
It was faint, but there nonetheless.
Sleeping soundly. Yes he was. Exhausted.
He hadn’t touched her, just came in through the side wall, passed through the covers, fell asleep.
He hadn’t touched her, though. Not his type. All he needed—all he wanted from her was some place to sleep off the nocturnal sojourns in other women’s beds.
The story of her life, she sniffed, not even an incubus wants me.
It was funny, really. Not funny ha-ha, but funny in a pathetic way. Yes, Maritza was awake because the incubus had finally found her new apartment. He liked sleeping with her. She was cozy. Her butt was a bit on the cold side, but if he wrapped the covers just so, they both stayed warm.
© Relf, 2007