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blows the remainder in my face.
    “Stella.”
    “I brought your car back,” she says, nodding to behind her.
    “I see that.”
    “I missed you.” Her hand touches my chest. I place mine on top of it, stopping it from moving further.
    “You have to leave,” I tell her, my voice not raised. Her face contours like I’ve slapped her.
    “Is she in the house now?” she snaps, snatching her hand back. I don’t feel the need to answer or even get into an argument about it. I grab my keys from the truck and walk off. I’m not allowing her to take it again.
    “You can’t just leave me here!” she shouts after me.
    “Call someone whose bed you frequent!” I yell. She swears at me and I choose to ignore her. Walking back into my house, I shut the door and lock it behind me.
    Turning on the kitchen light, it illuminates the living room, where Rose is currently asleep.
    She stirs like my presence is noticeable. She rolls into the couch, her face now tucked away. I want to stand there and learn more about her. I want to know why. But instead I walk to my room, shutting the door and lying down. Letting the demons take me away in my sleep.
     

 

    He’s so familiar, and yet so foreign. I’m not quite sure how to understand him, or even read him. He seems cold, uncaring, and his actions dictate that.
    Why did he help me?
    Why did he feel the need to help me?
    He doesn’t seem like the caring type.
    He leans on the bench, dressed in his black suit, sipping his coffee. He doesn’t speak to me when I sit across from him, his beautiful eyes don’t even land on me. I stare at him longer than necessary, taking him in, drinking him in. He’s someone who’d turn heads, but you’d be afraid to walk up to. He looks me up and down, from my feet to my head, stopping there and staring at me. Assessing me maybe? It makes my whole body sing, his eyes on me.
    “Do you want to know?” I manage to squeak out, trying to break whatever it is that’s happening here.
    Twitching in my chair, I don’t want to tell him. I feel like I owe him an explanation as to why I’m the way I am, and that I’m not usually this way, never have been. Until him, until the man that destroyed me.
    He continues to sip his coffee, reading the paper, totally ignoring me.
    “I was in love once,” I whisper. At first I think he doesn’t hear me, or perhaps he’s continuing to ignore me, but when I look up his eyes are on me. Tight, zoning in on me. He seems angry, and then replaces it straight away that you would miss it if you weren’t looking closely. His straight demeanor is back.
    “I met him when I was eighteen, and he was my world. He promised me things, gave me things. I believed everything he said. He was good…” I let that last word hang on the edge of my tongue. It feels odd to say that about Roger. He’s anything but good now.
    “You became a druggie and a prostitute because of a man?” His lip twitches, like he thinks I’m being ridiculous. It makes me angry. How can he assume to have those thoughts of me? He has a right to, though, to say it to me like that. Hurts more than I will admit to.
    “Thank you for everything you’ve done, I’m going to leave now.” I stand, placing on the shoes that his brunette left for me and walk to the door. I want to look back, to see those eyes, that beard, that hair, that body one last time. I choose not to and simply walk out.
    He doesn’t say anything. I expected something, but got nothing. Not even a goodbye. I feel so angry at him, I just don’t understand why. I don’t know him, shouldn’t expect anything from him. He hasn’t been loving. He’s just cold, with a touch of soft. I walk past the house and start walking down the long driveway. A noise comes from behind me. It gets closer, and when it reaches me I see it’s Black sitting in his truck, looking at me with sunglasses covering his eyes. He nods his head to the passenger side of the car, so I walk around and climb in. I hide