From the Bar

Colin had said yes to going out with the boys because he wanted them to still like him. He liked having friends who would tell him where to go and when to go instead of sitting in his room, sometimes lonely. They’d said he’d been bummish lately and maybe he was but really he’d just been studying more. University was harder than secondary school. Most of guys didn’t go to good places, they didn’t try, so it was mostly the same for them, this time they just lived on the same campus as the girls they hooked up with. They all went out to the clubs because then all the girls from all the schools were there, not just one. There was more variety. You could pick and choose like flavors at an ice cream parlor.

A lot of them always went back with girls. In his first weeks Colin had too, it was like everyone wouldn’t leave until they were with someone they didn’t come with, and the boys had told him to and he didn’t have any reason to disagree. He’d had sex before, a few times, with girls from secondary school the summer after graduating. The whole thing confused him because they had always been too popular to associate with him. It only made sense when he considered they might be getting ready for university, using him as some sort of test before they met real men. He didn’t mind it too much, it was good practice for him and they never told anyone, maybe they were too ashamed. He only told his mates he’d done it, no more detail than the fact that yes, he’d had sex before, nothing else to it. They teased him about it but he didn’t answer their questions, it was better that way, to let them think what they wanted to instead of making him say.

The fact of the matter was, he wasn’t sure how much he liked hooking up. He knew he liked the hooking up part, how it felt to have someone on top of him, or beneath him, or beside him, or in front of him, but thinking too much about a whole other someone nearly ruined it all. It was much better to go at it with a real partner than on his own, but with someone else there was so much more than just the body, although, when he thought about it, that’s what he was enjoying the most. He didn’t want to be a prick. He didn’t like when his friends walked by a girl and they’d start talking about her boobs, like that’s all there was to her. It made his stomach curl up but he knew he was supposed to be turned on. He considered maybe there was something wrong with him. He felt guilty about being with someone and not really knowing them. He tried to focus on the physical, her body on his, but that felt wrong too. Suddenly it was over and she was leaving and he was changing the sheets.

Tonight was the last Saturday before their break and then exams. Everyone was going home or to their parents’ place somewhere warm, like Barcelona. Colin was going home, his parents didn’t have a place by a beach. It was just a few hours north, and it was cold. They’d been shoveling snow out of the driveway for the past three days, as if Colin was going to turn onto their road any minute.

Freezing, his dad had texted. Can hardly feel my hands as I type.

put on ur gloves, Colin responded. txt me when you’re inside. His mom sent him a picture of them in matching sweaters. It made him cry on his history textbook.

Tonight it seemed like everyone was looking for their last chance at getting with someone from university before they went back to their families and bundled up or went to a beach resort and made out with an older woman. The bar wasn’t designated for any one campus but it was in the middle of three universities so everyone went there. You got a pound off a beer if you showed your student ID. He hadn’t hooked up with any girls from there but some of the guys had. Colin went home with his palms around beer bottles that often got wet from the rain on his walks back. He had a line of them in his room, like a sort of décor, a kind of record of how many times he went home alone. He considered, often, that maybe he didn’t have to go home alone as many times as he did, but when he knew none of the girls at the bar he liked it more, it was easier. He’d get off himself or sometimes just go to sleep watching some show, one with a laughing track, and would wake up with it still playing. Other times he did talk to a girl, usually when he was feeling especially alone, and she’d lean in and touch his arm and he’d feel jittery, like he knew something might happen. As she was talking he’d focus on how sharp her nails were or how it tickled when her hair swept his elbow. Then she’d stop talking, and he’d realize he’d been listening to nothing, just himself. It never mattered much, everyone talked just to fill the space before it was an appropriate time to take someone back home. He wasn’t sure who had made these rules but he followed them because everyone else did. Everyone else probably liked having sex with strangers, they did it so often. But to Colin all of the conversations felt the same, asking about siblings and his course and how much it rained over the past week. Sometimes he thought it was better to skip all of it and just go fuck, that’s where it was going to end up anyway.

Tonight he paid the cover, seven pounds, a little pricier because it was near holiday and everything was more expensive then, people needed to buy presents and things for the people they loved. He took his jacket off and gave it to the coat girl, who smiled at him, slightly, the way most women did, like they didn’t know just what to do with him. The bar was hot. It usually was, the guys at the door knew exactly many people as they could fit with enough room to still make it to the drinks. Colin could feel his hair start to get damp and he reached behind his neck to wipe it, then put his hand by his side. He wished he could shower. There were more people than usual, but by nature of his height he could see above the crowd to the bartenders, running around, pouring things into various sized cups. There was a live band, which the guys always liked because it made it feel more real, but they were loud and not very good.

He knew a few of girls around. One was in his American literature module and always asked questions to make everyone else feel dumb, like, does this embody the zeitgeist of the post world-war II era? And everyone would groan and think, c’mon, Marianne, who uses words like zeitgeist? The others he’d seen at some of the extracurricular clubs he’d stopped into, basketball but he wasn’t good enough, The Labour Party group but he wasn’t political enough. One of them really liked writing for the newspaper, he thought, and might have shared some of her pieces on his Facebook timeline, but he couldn’t quite remember.

There was a girl from his writing module, one of the only creative courses he’d been able to take. He was pretty sure he’d read her writing, but the professor kept it anonymous, so they were supposed to never know but sometimes you could figure it out. He’d guessed because it was about a quiet girl who sees everything but is never involved in it, and that was how he saw her. He considered for a second maybe she didn’t see herself quite the same way. He thought she was pretty, not in the way his mates would think, but privately, like her attractiveness was a secret only certain people could be let in on. She came into class right as it started and left right as the professor dismissed them. She didn’t talk to anyone, really at all, now that he’d thought about it. He wondered who she was with here tonight.

She was standing near a post toward the bar, drink in hand, but no phone. He knew most people used their phone when they were trying to pretend they had something more interesting to do than look around, or if they were embarrassed to be alone. He did that a lot. He saw a lot of Instagram pictures he never would have if he didn’t do that when he was walking by himself sometimes. She was wearing a shirt with mesh long sleeves so he could see her skin. Maybe it was just the way the colored light was shining on her but it looked like she had bruises on her arm, he wondered how she got them. This was different from class, although he supposed girls didn’t usually wear what they wore to the bar to class. She often wore sweaters and stripped turtlenecks and glasses but she didn’t have them on now, and he could see her eyes clear. He was too far away to determine what color but he thought he remembered blue.

The boys had already gone off to get their beer. They didn’t like not having anything in their hands but Colin didn’t really care, he had already had some when they were in Henry’s flat pre-drinking. He didn’t want to feel sick in the morning because he had to study. It was still hot, maybe hotter now that he had made his way partly in, and now he was alone and sweating. From meters away he could hear the boys shouting at the bartenders to get them drinks, cheeky in a way that’d work because the girl ones always thought they were cute.

He decided he was going to go talk to her. He was nervous and he tried to understand why, maybe it was because he didn’t want the conversation to end up like the other ones before. He didn’t want to talk about the rain. He had a feeling she wanted more than that too, but what did he really know, maybe she wouldn’t want to talk at all, maybe she would just nod back and walk away like she did at the end of class.

He watched her turn and look at someone, a girl with a necklace that he was pretty sure was the Jewish symbol around her neck. He had gotten closer now and could see the star with the triangles, he remembered from secondary school. One of the girls in his class had been Jewish. She was quiet too and wore black and smiled at him when the teacher called on him to read the textbook chapter about World War II. He thought about asking this girl about it now. It was more interesting than the rain or his course, but there was only so much to say about drizzling or first-year English even if you wanted to be talking about it. He considered it was weird, maybe she would laugh, at least. She probably had a good one, too, louder than you would expect but rich, like she really meant it.

He had moved far enough through the crowd that he was in arm’s length of her, but there were still people around them on all sides, it wasn’t impossible to move but they made it hard. Colin could feel the sweat of the girl’s back in front of him and he moved away in disgust, bumping into a tall bearded guy behind him. Sorry. He looked to her again. She was turned to the side, like she knew he was there but someone had told her not to look. He wanted to know her face. He couldn’t remember whether her eyes were blue or brown and it was bothering him, like he’d been ignorant and wasn’t giving her the attention she deserved. She seemed to notice things. If the piece he thought was her writing was indeed her writing she definitely noticed things, there was a deep perception, you could tell with details like that. He knew he wanted her to notice him like that, maybe more than any other girl he’d run into at the bar, maybe more than anything at all, in this moment. The music pulsed, louder, and he felt his ears start to sting with vibration. Her nails were painted light purple, not dark like lots of the other girls who tried to put their palms on guys’ faces. Her hands were pretty, a lot of her was.

He was in breathing distance now, and tried to hear her breath. It was probably quiet but nice to listen to if you could hear it. He wanted to touch her, but just gently, enough so that she’d feel it but he wouldn’t feel ashamed. Maybe she’d like it. But maybe she wouldn’t like him at all, maybe he just perceived she was different or maybe she really was, he didn’t know, and maybe it was near holiday and he felt some sort of pressure or he just wanted to, he didn’t know. His hands started to sweat and they never really did, something about the moment just felt important, like he would look back and remember it for a reason he didn’t know quite why yet.

Are you Jewish? he said.

She turned to look toward him. Her eyes were brown. He felt like he already betrayed her by getting the color wrong, but really she didn’t even know what he had been thinking about her so worrying didn’t really matter but he did it anyway. Maybe she had never even noticed him at all and how no idea who he was. Now he was thinking he was stupid and she’d probably think it too, and next semester she’d pass him on campus and look up and think, oh, that’s the boy and walk the other way. But she just blinked, then watched him, as if she was studying him or making a mental picture she could refer to when she told her friends, but he still wasn’t quite sure who her friends were, she didn’t seem to talk to anybody. Maybe the girl with the Jewish sign necklace.

What do you mean?

He focused on her mouth. It was hard to hear with the music and her voice was softer than he had remembered. Her lips looked smooth and a little wet, probably from drinking the beer in her hand.

I mean, are you Jewish?

Yes.

Oh, okay.

You’re not supposed to ask someone that.

He hadn’t considered the question to be a line of offense. Now he’d ruined it, of course she knew it was offensive, even if she wasn’t Jewish at all, because she paid attention to things and he was just coming up to girls he thought he knew but really was just stupid and she thought that. He thought about turning and going away, the campus was small but the city was big and maybe they’d never see each other again and he’d know not to ask pretty girls if they were Jewish even if he thought they were. She didn’t move. She was so still in the way she looked at him, like she was never going to move. It was like she was content right there, where she was and where he was.

I’m sorry, he said.

It’s okay. I mean, I guess I am Jewish.

You guess?

Half.

He didn’t know people could split their religions up like that, like they were fractions. He kicked the wooden floor with his Oxfords, a little smudged. It was his fault, though.

My mom’s side isn’t, my dad’s side is. We do all the holidays.

At this point she lifted her arm and took a swig from her drink. He considered maybe she was drunk, maybe if he had caught her after class and said the same thing maybe she would have ignored him all together, that would have been it. He considered himself lucky. Maybe she wasn’t that offended at all and knew she was making him nervous. People had told him he was easy to read, but he didn’t like the idea that other people could tell what he was feeling all of the time. His mom told him it was charming, girls liked to know how guys feel. Now she was staring at him. He could guess his cheeks were probably red it was so hot and he wiped his hands on his trousers, but the material was black so you couldn’t see a stain. He wondered if she wanted him to be nervous if she also liked knowing how he felt.

It was at this point he realized he hadn’t responded timely enough, now he was more nervous and she would know. He had thought through to this point, knowing he was going to ask her something but now she had answered and he didn’t know what to say, she was Jewish. He should have paid attention more to the girl in secondary school.

That’s nice, he said. He looked toward the bar and wished he had a drink to swallow, something to buy time between sentences, he was so anxious. The guy with a beard behind him grabbed his shoulder to get by. His palm was thick and heavy.

It’s okay, I think.

I’m sorry, he said. I didn’t know it’d be offensive.

She looked up at him with these eyes, brown, and Colin knew he’d never wanted anything else but for those eyes to watch him like that for however long she’d let them. He wondered what it’d feel like to push back her hair, it was long with waves and probably would be smooth between his fingers, maybe she would enjoy it. The band finished and people around them were clapping and she put her beer bottle in between her legs and clapped and whooped. He’d never heard her be loud like that. It was kind of raspy, like half of her voice was missing, and her mouth opened wide and her tongue showed and she looked what he considered happy but he didn’t know for sure. She pulled the beer bottle from her legs and took another swig. She put her finger to her lips, light purple, and wiped a little wetness off. She was looking at him again. Her face looked hopeful, but he was confused and convinced she must hate him by now, he was so ignorant and she knew everything, he should have said something different.

Ask me anything else.

Anything?

She nodded and smiled. Anything.

—

Mia takes him home to her apartment — flat — she’s still getting used to it even though it’s the end of her first semester here. It’s close to the bar and she’s only done this a few times before, earlier in the year, when guys were still eager. Colin is different: he holds her hand on the way home, just the few blocks, and he’s silent as she opens the door. She knows he’s drunk. She can smell it and he’s not walking straight, but he’s not belligerent or loud. He just smiles. For this she thinks she can forget most of what he’s said. He’s just tipsy and buzzed. Everyone says silly things when they’re tipsy and buzzed.

He pretends to admire her room. Maybe he really does, she’s not sure, and she pulls her laptop from her desk and sits on the bed. She assumes everyone does this when they invite someone they’re attracted to over to their room. First you watch a show, then you get closer, then you hook up and close the screen. It’s not completely presumptuous, but just forward enough, she thinks. She’s still drunk and feeling warm and so she’s a little more confident than usual, but she assures herself she’d make the same decision sober.

Soon enough the show is playing — she puts on a comedy she’s seen a million times — and Colin’s lying next to her but they’re not exactly touching. She thought putting the laptop in the middle of them was a good idea but it separates them slightly. She spends most of the show figuring out how she’ll move closer to him without making it a big deal.

They’re halfway through the episode when he touches her arm, softly. He’s not just touching but rubbing, as if he’s slowly scraping away at something. Mia has never felt someone do this, maybe herself if she has an itch she wants to get away and she’s distracted. After the initial shock, she knows she likes it. It’s not a conventionally sexual or romantic touch at all, but somehow it serves as both. He seems so sure of what he’s doing. It’s like he read it in a book or something so she just goes along with it. As the final credits play at the end of the episode she decides it’s her turn to make a move. She moves the laptop to her lap. She pretends she’s done it so she can see the screen better, but really it’s because then there’s no reason for space between them. He smiles, noticing what she’s done, and he moves closer.

She puts her head on his shoulder. It’s awkward at first, she has to move her hair and she knows it looks a little clumsy. When she starts to worry she’s messed everything up he starts breathing slowly and more deeply, like he’s relaxed or even enjoying it. She can hear his heart and his exhales all at all once. His heart beats fast and she’s grateful to know he’s nervous too. She worries for a second that it’s a little too fast, but then he takes his right arm and puts it around her and she’s distracted. His fingers dangle right at her waist, not really touching but tempting her.

When the laptop asks if she wants to play the next episode, she looks up at him to ask the same. She’s being polite; she could just click it and let it run. Part of her wants him to close the laptop without her asking and kiss her. She knows she’d probably let him do a lot of what he could possibly want to do with her. The other part of her is just happy, on his chest, hearing his breathing and worrying about his heart.

It’s then she realizes they haven’t spoken in a while. Usually she would be nervous about this but it feels natural, the silence is comfortable. Her mother once told her the best people in your life are the ones you can share silences with. Her mother always says things like that. She doesn’t want to be thinking of her mother when she’s about to hook up with someone anyway so she stops.

Do you want to play the next one, she asks.

What’s the alternative?

I don’t know. I just don’t want to bore you. It’s after she says this she considers he was being suggestive. He turns his head away and she wants to kiss him so she thinks of ways to get him to turn toward her. She can make a joke, move on top of him, or maybe grab his face. She’ll try almost anything. She knows it must be late anyway and she doesn’t want him to leave without her trying, but part of her worries he doesn’t like her at all. She thinks maybe it’s all some sort of plot or prank. She often feels like this when things go right for her because she doesn’t believe they’re real.

Eventually she looks at the facts logically and considers: it is the last night of her last winter semester here, she’s leaving for home a whole seven hours away, and soon. She got her calendar reminder for her flight today. She looks at the facts then looks at him. He’s handsome, really. She doesn’t understand why he’s here but instead of worrying about it she decides to accepts that he is.

I don’t think this will bore you.

She reaches across her body and grabs his chin, lightly, and pulls him in. His lips are soft and the kiss is a little messy, they’re both still a little drunk, she assumes. Drunk people kiss messily. But overall it’s pretty clean and light and perfect, and she pulls back and he’s smiling. It’s cute, really. He leans in again and she smiles through the kiss and he laughs. He hasn’t gotten her teeth, she hopes. He takes her face with his hand and kisses her harder. It’s sincere, she thinks, not too aggressive.

When it’s over, three kisses, he puts his arm back around her and she lies down. Colin hits play, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. She finds it a little strange but overall comforting. Now they’ve kissed, part of the pressure is off.

You’re right. I’m not bored, he says.

The next episode is her favorite of the series. She announces this, and it launches into an argument about what makes good comedy. She surprises him, probably because she knows so much. They talk about comedians, then books, her favorite. This is an easy game for her to play, going on about things she likes. When she rants about how much she loves Jane Eyre he rolls his eyes but smiles. She thinks for a second maybe he really likes what she’s saying — maybe he likes it in the way you get excited when someone you love gets excited about something, even if it doesn’t interest you at all. She wonders what other obsessions she could talk about, some of her weirder ones like giraffes and polka dot socks, and how long he’d let her keep talking. She wonder if he’d listen with the same smile. She thinks it’s beautiful.

When she gets to the conclusion of her modern-day talk summary of Jane Eyre he laughs and kisses her again. She supposes he’s happy. She kisses him back, a little harder and with more purpose. His hand moves to her hair and his fingers move through chunks of strands. It feels nice so she moans a little — hmm — happily, not sexually. She doesn’t want it to end. He smiles and the episode finishes. The credit song that usually annoys her plays.

Do you mind if we turn that off? he asks.

Do you have to go?

She’s worried. She knows he either leaves now or he will stay the night. If it gets too late it’d be rude to kick him out at such an hour. She’s never had a man sleep in bed with her without sex first.

No, I just don’t want to watch, let’s talk, or something.

Okay, sure.

She closes the laptop and swings off the bed to put it on her desk. When she climbs back onto the bed he’s there waiting for her under the covers. She pulls back the sheets and when she lies down he holds her. She puts her arm around him so he can feel his stomach. It’s firm, muscular. Something about that upsets her but she can’t understand just why. She pulls her own stomach away from him, suddenly aware of its size and how it spills onto his thinner frame. He’s wiry and she feels like a huge mass.

He pulls her in closer and he’s warm. She focuses on his breath as he inhales slower again. It’s so deep, almost like he’s falling asleep. She gets the feeling like she’s known him for longer than she has, which is almost no time at all, but really she doesn’t know most things about him. It’s unsettling to her that she can feel this intimate with someone — sleep, she believes, is one of the most intimate acts — but at the same time know nothing about them. She’s never been held until after she’s been fucked. This is different. She wonders if this is how she’s supposed to be treated.

What are you doing for break? he asks.

Going home.

Where’s that?

New York.

Wow, far.

California’s farther. She doesn’t want to think about going now. What about you?

Up north, three hours. My parents live there.

That’s nice, she says.

You ever been?

No, I haven’t been around that much, just London.

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps holding her.

Have you ever been to New York? she asks.

Once, during Christmas time. It was lovely.

You don’t really say lovely, do you. That’s ridiculous.

Why?

You drink beer. Drinking beer and saying lovely don’t really go together.

New York is lovely at Christmas time, with and without beer.

He’s funny; she laughs at this, feeling her stomach collide and draw back from him.

I guess you might not like New York around Christmas time, he says.

Why?

I don’t know, isn’t it excessive and you don’t celebrate?

It’s then she’s reminded of the first line he said in the bar:

Are you Jewish?

She pulls away from him and his arm drops from her shoulder to her waist. She doesn’t want to be next to him anymore. When he said it before it was funny, they were in a bar and he was just hitting on her. Now she’s sobering up and he’s held her so close, things are different. She doesn’t want it to bother her but it does anyway. She gets off the bed and tells herself she just needs a few minutes to process. She tells him she has to go to the bathroom.

Outside the hallway is silent and dark. Her flatmates are probably all asleep here or asleep at someone else’s. Either way they always come home from the bar early. Mia’s quiet as she goes to the end of the hall and into the bathroom. She makes sure to close the door before she turns the shower light on: it’s dimmer, not as bright.

In the mirror she can see herself, mostly. Some parts a little foggy from the mirror’s haziness. Her hair is a mess. Colin’s finger tangling felt nice but it makes her hair look awful. She wonders if it’s this aspect of her appearance that makes her look Jewish, the fact that her hair is dark brown. A lot of girls have dark brown hair so she forgets it. She picks at her nose instead, but that’s from her mom’s side, the Christian one. Her dad says she’s lucky. She has some blackheads and she pinches at her nose to make them pop out. It’s always satisfying, but then her nose is a little pink so she splashes water on her face. She’s blotchy now, and wet, and her hair is frizzy. It’s hard to convince herself that she’s pretty.

She sits to pee and feels it all escape her at once. There’s pressure on her stomach and she tries not to look down. Once she does she can’t stop staring: her stomach, pooling over her thighs, wide and bloated. She grabs at it. She can feel handfuls of fat. She disgusts herself, there’s so much to hold. She thinks of Colin’s muscular stomach and lets go of her own. Her fistfuls have left marks around her waist. When she stands up to flush she pulls her pants high, making them disappear in the mirror.

She doesn’t hate herself but mostly dislikes her appearance. Sometimes she can convince herself otherwise but right now she can only think of Colin’s stomach, firm and warm, and hers, billowing over. It’s so ugly most days she can’t even stand to look at it. As she washes her hands she looks at her face again in the mirror. She wonders why he asked if she was Jewish. She doesn’t mind looking that way; she is half Jewish. Even if she wasn’t she shouldn’t be offended, that would be wrong. She watches herself turn in the mirror and wants to understand why he asked, but then considers the whole thing probably reflects more on him than it does on her.

She turns the bathroom light off and carefully steps out into the hall. She holds her hands out to the sides to help guide her. It’s pitch black. When she reaches her door, her hands are sweaty but she pushes back her hair to get it out of her face. She hope she hasn’t messed it up more, but she probably has. She wonders if it was curlier if it would make her look more Jewish. She assumes so and opens the door.

Colin’s lying on her bed, looking at his phone, with nothing but his boxers on. His layers — a t-shirt, a sweater, even a sweatshirt over that — and his jeans and socks are in a pile on the floor. She looks to the items and then back to him. He’s smiling and looking at her, like he’s done something exciting and wonderful.

She starts to cry. She doesn’t want to and she can’t explain it, but she does. All of a sudden his phone is down and he’s up, out of her bed, walking toward her at the door. She puts her arms out and hands up to create some sort of blockade. It works because he doesn’t come closer. Instead, he looks for his shirt and his jeans. He falls over a bit as he’s putting them on and uses her bed to stabilize himself. She’s crying now, in big gulps, and she can’t stop breathing quickly. She’s even uglier now; she knows this. He walks toward her again and she lets him. He’s dressed and he offers to hug her.

I’m sorry. I thought it’d be fun. I thought you wanted this.

She doesn’t answer. Instead she just sniffles onto him. She wants to tell him she wanted it too but then she feels her stomach against his. He puts his hands in her hair and she yanks them out, a little too hard. It hurts her scalp. He steps back and looks at her. She doesn’t know whether he’s frightened or worried or even mad, but maybe it’s a mix of all three. She wipes the tears from her face. Her cheek is so wet and she can see the stain on his light blue shirt.

I’m sorry, he says. I’m really sorry. What did I do? Was it the Jewish thing?

Again: I’m sorry, Mia, I was just asking. I’m really sorry.

His words tumble out of his mouth and he moves away from her faster than she wants him to. He’s not smiling anymore. He puts on his sweater and his sweatshirt and sits on the edge of the bed, looking at her. His face is sad but so pretty. She thinks even if he had tears he’d probably still look as good. Her eyes hurt from crying and her body shakes. She can’t stop it.

Mia, I’m sorry. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.
He’s saying what she wants to hear but she doesn’t answer.

maybe I should go.

If she could she’d say it’s okay and that he doesn’t have to leave, but instead she finds herself nodding. I’m sorry, she says. I don’t know what came over me. I can’t imagine you’d want to do anything now.

Yeah.

It’s the wrong answer and it’s all he says for a long time. This silence isn’t comfortable like before, it’s louder and closing in on them. She feels claustrophobic.

Okay, she finally says, and crosses her arms. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me.

It’s okay.

He’s so close and so tall. He’s much bigger than her and it makes her feel small in a good way, like he’s protecting her. She wants him to hug her and hold her again, so they can just go back into the bed and be warm, but then he steps closer and she can almost feel their stomachs touching and his hands move to her face. She steps back.

She untangles her hair as he walks out the door.