“You don’t mean that.” “I do.” I was staring at the frozen movie screen, waiting for him to un-pause it.
“I overheard you talking to Noah.” I could still feel his spit in my mouth, and the respite the hand sanitizer had provided was dwindling away.
If I could still feel his spit, it was probably still in there. You might need to drink more of it.
This is ridiculous. Billions of people kiss, and nothing bad happens to them. You know you’ll feel better if you drink more.
“He needs to see somebody,” I said. “A psychologist or something.” “He needs a father.”
Why did you even try to kiss him? You should’ve known. You could’ve had a normal night, but you chose this.
Right now needs to be about Noah, not me. His bacteria are swimming in you.
They’re on your tongue right now. Even pure alcohol can’t kill them all.
“Do you just want to watch the movie?” I nodded, and we sat next to each other, close but not touching, for the next hour, as the spiral tightened.
FIFTEEN
AFTER I GOT HOME THAT NIGHT, I went to bed but not to sleep.
I kept starting texts to him and then not sending them, until finally I put the phone down and took my laptop out.
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