Traps Read Online Free

compartment and reaches inside. She draws out a roll of duct tape. A ziplock bag of zip ties. A ziplock bag of ziplock bags.
    “Temptress,” he says.
    She pulls out a set of tiny screwdrivers. A box of matches. A pair of black sandals. A small white-noise machine and a little box of earplugs.
    “Vixen.”
    She laughs then and turns awkwardly to kiss him, a long kiss, both of them squatting over her backpack under the bird stand among his dirty shoes.
    He says, “Will you stay for the party?”
    She winces.
    “Is that a yes?”
    She puts the duct tape back in the bag. “I have twenty-three steps in my latest sleep-improvement regime.” She puts away the matches and the zip ties.
    He says, “Maybe that’s part of the problem.”
    “What is?”
    “All the steps. A regime.”
    She gathers the remaining things and arranges and rearranges theminside. He himself falls asleep so easily. She has seen it many times before she steals back to her snow white room, his arms and legs splayed wide in the center of his churned sheets, his lips parted. Sometimes tiny tears form at the outer corners of his closed blue eyes.
    He says, “Maybe what you need is a super late night of blue drinks and the comfort of sleeping in an unfamiliar bed with a charming snorer who adores you.”
    She is still shifting things around in her bag. “It’s just the way I’m built, Ian. That should comfort me—I’m with you on that—but it doesn’t. You know what comforts me?” She takes her hand out of her backpack and looks at him squarely.
    “Tell me.”
    “Being alone. Being in my own room alone. Or even—it’s crazy, get this—wearing a costume. Helmets too. Helmets comfort me. And sinking to the bottom of a public pool. Or here’s another weird one—being in a motel room. An empty, sterile, anonymous motel room.”
    “You sleep well in motel rooms?”
    “Well, no. But I feel comfortable in them. They soothe me.”
    She takes the duct tape out one last time and moves it to the other side. The two of them are crouched so close together their faces are almost touching. Her elbow grazes him as she jockeys things around.
    He says, “I love this backpack, Dana. This backpack has appeared in all five of my favorite dreams. But I’m telling you, whatever finally helps you sleep peacefully, it isn’t going to be in this backpack.”
    “Why?” she says with mock surprise. “What’s missing?”
    “They don’t make ziplocks for everything.”
    “You do know they come in gallon and snack size now, right?”
    “Some things can’t be bagged.”
    “Like what?”
    “Luck.”
    “You’re so superstitious.”
    “It’s not superstition. It’s respect for the inexplicable, and actually you’ve got plenty.”
    “Name one example.”
    “All those things you try to help you sleep. What is that if not voodoo?”
    Everything is back in her backpack now, and she zips the top shut.
    “I’m sorry,” she says. She looks tired, but Ian is smiling, and his eyes are soft on her.
    She says, “You’re probably right. But for tonight at least, I better stick with my twenty-three steps. I want to be well rested for work and your sister’s wedding tomorrow. I know how important it is to you.”
    He shrugs, still smiling. “We’ll see.”
    “Besides”—she stands up, hefting the pack—“you’ve given me a project. You know how I like a project.”
    The intercom rings then, and she turns and puts her hand on the doorknob, but he rises quickly and lays a hand against the door to stop her opening it. He presses the button on the intercom. “Avocasa!” he says. “Enter to be delighted!” Then he releases the button and lays his hand on Dana’s shoulder. Pieces of birdseed drop from their clothes to the floor, a soft ticking like the end of a rain.
    “Dana,” he says. “I know it’s not the birds. Or the frogs. Or your insomnia.”
    She keeps her chin level, but she cuts her eyes away to a point just beyond his face. She says, “I