And now, I see him in the flesh.
“Hey,” he says, drawing closer, intending to help me with my bag. I wave his hand away, drawing a pained expression on his face.
I want to punch him or push him or something irrevocably childish and violent, but I just stand there. We just stand there, in the middle of the room as Maki and Sushi—the insolent poodles—pounce on our legs. I take a seat, at our spot across the coffee table, and he follows. I feel our knees touching, angled as we are to have a better view of each other’s face. He deflates when I move a few inches farther from him. I study his disheveled appearance and he squirms under my gaze. There is something in the silence that makes him so uncomfortable and insecure, and I want him to feel every single second of it. If I can make him suff
