The weekend passed the way weekends did when your mind refused to cooperate with the concept of rest.
I got home Saturday morning in Ryan's driver's car, still wearing his sweatpants rolled four times at the waist and carrying my black dress in a bag the driver had produced from somewhere without being asked, which told me everything I needed to know about how often Ryan required this particular kind of discretion. I didn't let myself think about that too hard. I had enough to think about already.
My apartment welcomed me with the smell of leftover Chinese food I'd forgotten to put away properly and the particular silence of a space that had only ever held one person. I stood in the middle of my living room for a moment, bag in hand, and looked at it — the couch where I'd fallen asleep r
