Chapter 9
I woke to strange sounds in the night. I was tangled in Philip’s arms and legs, his heavy, sour warm breath lingering close to my mouth. I turned away, to the window, to the place where the persistent noise—a door opening and closing, and a muffled male voice—echoed in staccato sounds of the night.
I raised my head to look at the clock radio—3:43 A.M.
Falling back against the bulky, stiff pillow behind my head, I closed my eyes, listening.
Philip’s grating snores murmured in the back of his throat. Unable to go back to sleep, I gently grabbed Philip’s arm and moved it across his bare chest, clumps of his hair glistening with perspiration, my hands slick with his sweat.
The air was stuffy and thick as I pulled myself up into bed, slowly, so as not to wake the snoring giant. M
