Sleight of Hand

"Pick a card, any card."
Kevin flared a deck in front of her with incredible ease and grace, so studied that it appeared the fan of laminated cards was a natural extension of his hand.
"Not now, Kev, ok? I'm not in the mood."
Kevin stood motionless for three seconds then with an exaggerated ruffle he collapsed the accordion of cards into a perfectly stacked deck, his gestures so fluid as to be unnoticeable.
Sleight of hand.
It was awkward between them.
Tight, rough.
Never date a magician, this is permanently etched into her brain now.
She used to love it, the mystery, the tricks so remarkable she squealed with shock and delight. A total turn on. Talent gets her every time.
Now it's one big irritation. A constant itch he needs scratched. Look at me, look at me. Did you see that, can you believe your eyes
He's worse than that actor.
Almost as bad as that stand up comic she slept with, the one who screamed like a girl.
If Tracy wanted needy she'd get a dog.
He sulks, half smirking, muttering under his breath.
"What did you say?"
She's aggressive, too far gone now. She can't stand the tone in her voice when her anger bubbles up. Disappointment, really.
A sense of failure.
Self loathing disguised as blame and righteousness.
How did they get here?
He buries himself in tricks.
Late nights of improv and pick up sets. Booze and buddies and female companions other than
Her.
He's going to take the tour. Sudbury, Timmins, Sault Ste Marie.
She tells him to take the large suitcase, the one from their shower.
It's tacky. A high gloss purple, stands out in the crowd.
Something she's not likely to miss.


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