Abby
A curse slips out of my mouth as I lurch across my living room. My fingers are
clumsy as I fumble with the door handle, but finally, I yank it open. The porch
light filters in, revealing Karl, his figure imposing even in the darkness of the
street outside.
“What are you doing here?” I’m more tired than angry, and a little too drunk for
my own good, leaving my voice harsher than I really intend.
Karl’s eyes scan over me, taking in my haphazard state, before his gaze floats
past me and into the equally haphazard state of my apartment. “Why aren’t you
answering your phone?” he asks. “I’ve been trying to call you. I’m worried.”
Enter title…
partially to hide his view of the
“I didn’t feel like talking tonight,”
tone conveys exactly what I want it
do I need
budge. Instead, he steps
stop him. He stands in my entryway, looking
takeout food, the two wine bottles, and the blooming red
towel before he finally
trying to reach you.
I haven’t been looking at
been… busy.”
chest and frowns, a look
what? Watching old movies
a pointed look at the bottle
though that will somehow protect
what? It’s my
There it is again: that defensiveness in my tone. I
who only ever tried his best to
help it. Right now, I’m angry with the world,
why.
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