Squeezed up against the edge of a warm futon, trying to get out of the sun shining through the haze of cigarette smoke. She never did like the smell, but it always catches her by surprise how quickly the cigarette pressed between his lips can become a torture.
Not really lost, but not really here, she knows what he’s saying and she knows what’s coming, but only because its infidelities that she’s heard a thousand times before. She can’t help but wonder why things become so vivid in situations like this. She can’t help but stare intently at the cat licking itself
Who is he? Why was he walking you home? What were you talking about? He knows where we live? How did you meet him? What’s wrong with you? Are you stupid? Answer me!
That’s it. That’s when things really slow down. She should never have let him walk her home from class. It’s just that he seemed so nice, and she’s so lonely these days. No one to share art and literature with. But he read Vonnegut, and listened to John Mayer! What was his name again? Robert.
Opens her eyes again, she doesn’t notice the sting from the sun and the smoke; its overwhelmed by the stinging on the side of her face and the ache in her ribs. Despite how slowly it happened she almost doesn’t remember it. Stupid Robert, why couldn’t he walk home by himself? Oh well, it was her own fault for letting him tag along. She should never have betrayed the trust of the cigarette standing above her like that.
At least he loves her enough to care. And she knows he’s sorry. Look, he says he’s going to take her out to dinner. She better go and put her makeup on, her face is getting red.