She yanked her hand back.
Sat up.
Stared at her own hand like it had done something without permission. Which it had. Technically.
She stood up.
The clock on her nightstand said 11:58 PM.
Two days. Or three, depending on how you counted.
He'd taken her against the furniture room's bed and then simply — left.
Walked out.
Tucked himself back in with the nonchalance of someone who had just completed a routine task and had other things to get to.
Technically it was her who ran away, but shouldn't he have just followed behind her, like a gentleman should? No, he didn't. He simply did not follow her to console her.
Two days of nothing.
No message. No appearance. No sign that anything had occurred.
She stomped her foot.
Just once. Hard. Against the apartment floor.
"You bastard." She pointed at the empty room like he was in it. "WHERE ARE YOU."
The room did not answer.
