"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
—Dylan Thomas
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When I woke up, Renzo was already gone. I knew it for sure after checking the bathroom—his gun, the vodka, the box, all gone. It was like everything that had happened last night was just a figment of my imagination. But the lingering woodsy scent in the air and the droplets of blood that trailed from the door to the stool reassured me. He had been here. I hadn't dreamt it all.
It would've been a shame to believe that the kiss on my forehead or the buzz that followed was just some wishful fantasy.
The only problem now was, I was angry. Angry he'd left without a word. Left even after I'd told him he wasn't a bother.
I sighed, walking back to the living room.
Day ten
