The Finger

"How's your finger?"

"I think it's going a little green."

Kyle left the kitchen, wet dishtowel still in hand, and joined Vanessa on the couch. He placed his palm beneath hers and inspected her finger, the towel a barrier between them. "I can't believe you still haven't taken care of this."

"It's just a bug bite."

"It's squishy. I don't think bug bites make your fingers squishy."

"What do you know about it? When did you become an entomologist?" Vanessa cupped the digit to her chest.

"Let me see it."

"No. It's mine. Miiiiine."

Kyle didn't like it when Vanessa spoke like a little kid, but she seemed to think it was cute. It was a habit he'd noticed only after they moved in together. "You should go to the doctor."

"They'll cut it off."

"That's ridiculous."

"You don't know. When did you become a doctor?"

"Cut it out, Ness."

"You want them to cut it off. You never liked that finger."

What the hell was she talking about? Kyle worried that it was worse than he'd thought; maybe there was some sort of venom oozing into her brain.

"You never liked that finger. You won't kiss it. You don't want it in your mouth."

"That's not true."

"Prove it." She held her hand forward regally, the questionable finger drooping slightly below the others.

Was it going green? Perhaps--the whitest of greens, the green of seedlings shoving their fragile stems through the dirt. At least he thought it was that kind of green. When did he become a botanist?

Vanessa moved her hand closer to his face, wiggled the finger as much as she could. "Prooove it. What are you, chicken?"

Though his stomach heaved, he jerked the finger to his lips, then into his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around it and licked and sucked and bit and all the while Vanessa squealed, "you're hurting me, you're hurting me."