Bjorn
Sleep never really came, the deep and suffocating silence drifting through the floorboards carrying a completely different weight than it had over the past several days. Bjorn spent most of the agonizing night staring blankly at the ceiling while the old building settled around him, every creak in the floorboards and every hum from the refrigerator echoing louder than usual in the empty room.
The memory of the previous night was currently eating him alive; she had given him a blow job—a desperate, quiet thank-you for the room and the safety he provided—and the sheer guilt of letting it happen was suffocating.
When the thin, watery light of dawn finally arrived, Bjorn gave up on the idea of sleeping altogether and quietly dressed for work while the apartment was still submerged i
