Conditioned Response
Hi
This is my first real attempt at a short story. I’m looking for general feedback including what’s working/not working, what could improve and can you tell what is happening? Like have I made it too abstract? Anything at all is appreciated though!
One
Her phone buzzed quietly against her thigh. It shouldn’t have felt urgent.
A sharp electricity ran through her body, immediate and familiar. It was always this way with him, random enough to surprise her, familiar enough for her body to expect it.
She didn’t reach for it.
It might not be him. It could be Billy, she hadn’t called him in a while.
Joe sat beside her, his hand on her knee, thumb casually running along the seam on the inside, a steady, unchanging pace.
They sat there together, his attention absorbed by the TV, hers on the message in her pocket.
She kept her hands still.
She already knew.
Her pulse quickened anyway.
She stood up.
“I’m just nipping to the loo.”
Her voice sounded normal. Practised.
“Who text you?” he asked.
“Probably Billy.”
Joe nodded without looking at her, still fixed on the TV. “He’ll have run out of money again.”
“I’ll call him later. We’re due a good shouting match.”
Joe laughed knowingly as she left the room.
She closed the bathroom door with a soft click, felt the cold tiles under her bare feet. A private space, no interruptions. No worries about the way she knew her body reacted being seen.
Shame lit up inside her. Unable to dim it, she closed the blinds around it instead.
She took out her phone.
His name.
It wasn’t thought, it was conditioned.
Her body surged like someone had flipped on a switch inside her. Her heart pounded too high in her chest, nausea mixed with anticipation and an invasive heat spread under her skin. Her stomach tightened into a knot.
She noticed her breathing had become shallow. Images pushed forward without invitation. The pressure of his hands, the weight of his mouth on hers. The sequence she knew before it happened. Not memories exactly, something more rehearsed.
She caught herself.
Forced a breath in. Slow. Dragging it down. She pressed her feet hard into the tiles, grounding through the cold, leaned her hips into the sink, anchoring herself to something that didn’t move.
She counted the breaths until her pulse stopped racing.
She opened the message.
One word.
Sex?
No greeting. No question, really.
It was always this simple. No negotiation. No space for anything else.
She didn’t reply straight away.
She stood there a moment longer, feeling the residual tremor in her hands, the low hum still running under her skin. Not fading. Just waiting.
The long shower helped a little.
Hot water, steady pressure, something to dull the edges. It soothed her back into something presentable.
Later, she moved through the motions. A light and easy excuse, a careful and practiced kiss for Joe. He accepted it the way he accepted everything. Without digging. Without asking.
He must see something. Or maybe he chose not to. It didn’t matter right now.
At the door, her hand paused on the handle.
Guilt grasped at her as she looked back at him, but not doubt.
She left before it could organise itself into anything stronger.
And as the door closed behind her, the anticipation sharpened again, already rewriting everything that came before.
Two
The door was always waiting unlocked for her.
The scent of his washing powder mixed with soap and faintly whatever he’d cooked for his lunch greeted her as she went in.
It was always a shade too cold inside his flat. She’d mentioned it to him one of the first few times but he’d just laughed and offered to warm her up.
He was waiting for her on the sofa in the lounge, already half undressed.
He smiled when she came in, paused the TV and patted the seat next to him.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said, moving close to her as she sat down. Then, “How are you?”
“I’m good.” She reached towards him.
“Do you want a drink or anything?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Good, because I only have water.”
He laughed awkwardly as he said it, like that was why she had come.
Sometimes they made it to the bedroom. This wasn’t one of those times.
It followed the usual pattern. Hands quick in their haste, clothes hurriedly removed. Kisses landing everywhere except her mouth. Obscene words in her ear, requests she reacted to half a second too late. Complying somewhere between enjoyment and embarrassment. Scripted enough to slip into without thinking.
At some point she became aware of herself, not fully inside it but tracking him instead. The rhythm he liked, the small sounds that encouraged him. The occasional glances at her to make sure she was still with him.
Towards the end, he was breathless, watching her closely for her own reaction. She gave him one he recognised.
She always left feeling cold, despite the way her body jolted at the thought of him.
“Bye,” she said softly from the door at the bottom of the stairs.
“See ya.”
His voice drifted down, easy, from the sofa above.
He hadn’t moved since she’d disentangled herself from him. He watched her dress, her skin cooling, goosebumps rising as the air settled over her again. She saw something in his eyes then and for a second he pressed his hands together like he did when he wanted to say something.
She looked away before she had to, and he said nothing.
He didn’t look at her much after that. Just a few words between them, light and forgettable. He stayed where he was, loose and unbothered, while she pulled herself back together.
“You’d better be getting back,” he said eventually.
“He’ll be…” His voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t bring himself to reference Joe.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “He will be.”
He didn’t get up.
Of course he didn’t.
She waited a second, longer than she needed to, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe.
Then she opened the front door of his cool, quiet flat and stepped out onto the street, closing it gently behind her.
The afternoon hit her all at once, bright and blustery, the light sharp enough to make her squint. The wind pushed against her flushed skin, and she let it roll over her as if it might settle something that hadn’t quite landed.
On the drive home it started to come back to her in pieces. Fragments of something whole but incomplete.
She stopped at the traffic lights and some of the shameful parts came back.
Say it, louder.
That’s it…
She shook her head.
She gathered the pieces that felt real, his hands on her face, the smell of his hair, the look on his face afterwards.
She kept the parts that felt intimate and let the rest dissolve.
Three
She let herself in, closing the door carefully behind her.
The air was heavy with Joe’s scent, pleasant and familiar.
“Hey,” he called.
“Hi.”
The television filled the room, voices layered over music. He muted it as she came through, turning toward her with an easy smile.
“You alright?”
“Yeah. Bit windy.”
“Yeah, it’s awful out.”
He stepped closer, kissed her quickly.
“You’re freezing.”
A brief heat swelled inside her, then dissipated.
“I’m fine,” she said, though she leaned into it just enough.
“Tea? It’ll warm you up.”
“Please, love.”
He went through to the kitchen.
She slipped off her shoes, lining them up, adjusting one slightly so they sat straight. Her bag went on the chair, strap tucked in.
When she sat, she shifted once, then again, until the cushion felt even.
He came back with two mugs, handed one to her carefully.
“Cheers.”
They settled into the programme. She followed it loosely. Faces, tone, enough to stay in step.
His arm stretched along the back of the sofa, his fingers eventually resting against her shoulder.
Light, familiar.
“You’ve been busy?” he said.
“Mm. Just work.”
“Anything good?”
“Not really.”
He nodded, satisfied. His attention was back on the TV.
Her phone lit up.
She saw the name before she picked it up.
She turned the screen slightly away as she opened it.
Did you get back alright? You looked like you were freezing walking out.
A second message came through.
Can I ask something?
She waited a fraction, then opened it.
Next time… could we stay a bit longer after? Just… lie there for a bit. I like that. The closeness.
She read it again.
There was nothing in it that didn’t fit. Nothing that broke anything they’d said this was.
Still.
Something in the phrasing caught. Just lie there, the closeness. It sat slightly out of place, like a word used in the wrong context.
She read it a third time, slower.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” she said, locking the screen. “Just a message.”
“Anyone exciting?”
She smiled, shook her head slightly. “No.”
“I can tell something’s wrong.”
She heard the slight tension in his voice.
“Oh?” She daren’t say more in case he detected the tremor in her voice.
“Yeah,” he put his hand on her knee. “You’re doing that thing again. Straightening everything because you’re stressed.”
She felt tears suddenly pricking at her eyes and a hot, gripping sensation like a hand at her throat.
How can you do this to him?
A loss of control now would be a disaster. She swallowed against it.
“Is it Billy? Is he upsetting you again?”
“I’m okay.”
She took his hand inside hers and held it tenderly. It felt real.
“I’m just stressed at work.”
He kissed her cheek.
“You can always talk to me.”
“I know.”
She kissed him back, taking comfort from his warmth.
He smiled and turned to the TV.
She placed her phone face down.
They watched for a while. He laughed; she joined a beat later. His knee rested against hers now, steady.
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn’t pick it up.
The light in the bedroom was too bright. She turned it off.
He was already under the covers.
“You coming?”
“Yeah.”
She slid in beside him, pulling the duvet straight. He turned toward her, his hand settling at her waist, warm and certain.
He kissed her shoulder, then her neck.
She lay still for a second, feeling it, mapping it, almost. Like she needed to locate where it was meant to land.
“I’m tired,” she said.
“Okay,” he said.
No resistance. His hand stayed a moment, then lifted away.
“Night.”
“Night.”
He fell asleep quickly.
She lay awake, eyes open, the room warm and still around her.
After a while, she reached for her phone.
The screen lit her face faintly as she opened the messages again.
Next time… could we stay a bit longer after? Just… lie there for a bit. I like that. The closeness.
She read it carefully this time, as if there might be a clearer version of it underneath.
It didn’t quite make sense.
They were friends. He’d made that clear from the start. Just something easy.
This didn’t contradict it exactly. It just… extended it, slightly, into something she hadn’t accounted for.
She tried to place it.
Did he mean it the way it sounded?
Or was it just…?
Afterwards, naturally, people…
She didn’t finish the thought.
In her mind, the scene adjusted.
Not the way it had been. Not the sofa, the distance, the quiet after.
Something closer. Slower. His arm around her, not incidental but chosen. Staying, instead of letting the moment end where it had.
She held onto that version for a second longer than she needed to.
Beside her, the steady rhythm of breathing continued, unchanged.
She put the phone down, but the phrasing stayed.
I like that. The closeness.
It repeated, softer each time, until it lost its edges and became something easier to hold.
Her phone vibrated again.
Billy this time.
I really need to speak to you.
She ignored him.
She pulled the duvet slightly closer, her hand reaching beneath.
Her eyes closed.
The rest followed easily after that. Smoother than the real version, more continuous. No gaps to explain, no edges to account for.
Just something that fit.
In those images combined with the movement of her hand, she let it carry through to the end that neither of them ever quite gave her.
After, breathing settling into a rhythm more aligned with Joe’s, she squashed the rising shame.
Eventually, she slept.
Four
She texted him as they were putting the body into the understated white ambulance outside.
She was sitting in the boot of her car, stroking the dog who had been the only creature with Billy in his last moments.
She didn’t want to look but she couldn’t help peering out as the stretcher rolled him down his garden path for the last time.
My brother’s just died.
He answered almost immediately.
Shit. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?
She watched the typing bubble appear and disappear, appear again.
Do you want to come over? Or I can come to you.
She read that twice.
The second line sat differently. Less like an option, more like a reach.
I’ll come to you, she typed.
He opened the door before she’d properly knocked.
For a second, they just looked at each other.
Then he stepped forward and put his arms around her, one hand at the back of her head, guiding her in against him.
It was firmer than she expected.
Not the urgent but loose contact she’d come to recognise, instead something that held its shape.
She felt the pressure of his chest, the steadiness of it, the way his hand stayed where it was instead of drifting.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She nodded into him, aware of the fabric of his shirt against her cheek, the warmth of him under it.
Her hands hovered for a second before settling at his sides, not quite sure where to go, then staying there.
They stood like that longer than felt usual. Long enough that the moment stopped feeling like a greeting and started to feel like something else.
He kissed her and it felt tender.
When he pulled back, his hand stayed briefly at her arm, fingers curved, as if finishing the gesture slowly.
“Come in,” he said.
They sat on the sofa.
He didn’t put anything on. No television, no music. The quiet felt deliberate.
He asked about her brother. Not in a probing way, just enough to let her answer if she wanted.
She did, in fragments.
He wasn’t a well man. Drink and loneliness were all he’d had at the end. And the dog.
She wished they’d been closer, but they clashed, her and him. Their personalities too similar, a bond both forged and weakened by their genetics.
He listened without interrupting, his attention steady in a way she hadn’t quite experienced from him before.
When her voice cracked he reached for her hand.
It didn’t feel like a move. More like something that had been waiting to happen.
His thumb rested against the side of her finger, still at first, then shifting slightly, a small, absent movement.
She noticed that. The repetition of it. The way it didn’t ask for anything back.
She let her hand stay there.
At some point, she stopped tracking the time properly.
A moment arrived where he looked at her differently, slightly more directly, as if he was deciding something.
“I’m going to look after you for a bit,” he said.
It landed somewhere between statement and offer.
She noticed a small internal shift at hearing it, not resistance exactly, just a tiny adjustment in how she felt in the moment.
He held her eyes for a second longer, then his voice slightly rough added, “You don’t have to think about any of this when you’re with me…”
She thought she heard some feeling there, but she didn’t know how to respond. She felt too small and full of sadness to really process the words.
He moved his body closer to her and released her hand. His touch was light on her arm, her face.
He continued, “I might say things I don’t mean.”
Then don’t say them.
He said it lightly, practically. Just something to be noted in advance.
She understood the meaning immediately. The logic of it. The warning.
She could have asked him to explain, but she didn’t want to.
“Okay,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, with a resignation he didn’t seem to register.
It felt different.
He didn’t rush her. Usually there was a kind of urgency to it, a familiar rhythm she could anticipate.
This was slower, unhurried in a way that felt deliberate.
There was none of his usual restlessness. His hands stayed in place for longer, he didn’t move on too quickly. When he touched her he seemed to register her reactions, respond to them. Like he was paying attention to the moment itself, not what came next.
She found herself paying attention to the moment too.
The way he kept his hand on the back of her neck for a second longer than necessary. The warmth of his palm against hers, clasped tight, not guiding or directing. Just there.
It made it harder to, harder to stay outside of it, observing, the way she sometimes did.
Her breathing changed before her thoughts caught up. Deeper at first, then uneven, catching slightly as she tried to keep track of what he was doing, where he was, what it meant.
He didn’t say much.
No predictable dirty words, no usual edge to his voice. When he did speak it was quiet, almost incidental, not shaping the acts just living inside them.
That altered it, made it feel continuous, like there wasn’t another version of it happening elsewhere at the same time.
She felt herself vividly inside the present, let herself stretch out within it more fully than she had before. Not thinking ahead, not analysing and adjusting. Just following what was happening as it happened.
She didn’t question it, or step outside it to check.
She let it be what it felt like.
She could feel his excitement, his breathing was quicker, his rhythm faster. She tightened her grip on his hand, anticipating the end.
And that was when he said it.
“I love you.”
For a fraction of time, as the words were still on their way to her understanding, it seemed like they might belong. Like they might slot into the exact space she had just opened.
No you don’t.
Then they landed and it felt like a slap.
The misalignment was immediate and absolute.
A small, precise crack appeared in something that had been tightly and carefully held in place.
Why would you say that to me now?
He stayed inside her for longer than usual, breathless, his weight settled fully over her instead of lifting away too quickly.
She lay still below him, aware of the hand still pressed into hers, the other tangled in her hair.
She kept her eyes closed against the kiss he placed on her forehead, against the clumsy nonsense that spilled from his mouth as he asked if she was okay.
Of course I’m not.
Because that wasn’t what this was.
She knew that. She always had.
The way it stayed contained. The way it ended cleanly. The way he never carried it beyond where it was meant to stop.
Those words didn’t belong inside any of it.
Something in her recoiled.
Outwardly, she kept control, but inside there was a cold tightening, a shift that didn’t reach the surface.
It felt careless. Much worse than if he’d said nothing at all. As if he’d burned down the boundaries that protected her and expected them to hold anyway.
She could have lost her composure then. Pushed him away from her, demanded to know what it meant. Not the lie itself, the timing, the reason.
Why now, why tonight?
Why the warning?
Did you fucking plan this?
Did you think you were doing me a favour?
But she didn’t say any of it.
Eyes closed, face blank.
She felt powerless, unable to swim in a vast body of water and unable to tell him she was drowning.
She didn’t move until he did.
He touched her face lightly as he withdrew.
“Are you okay?” he asked her again.
She hid herself behind folded arms.
She shoved it all down into the smallest, densest part of her where she could contain it safely.
“Yes.”
Her voice gave him nothing.