Four
She sat up in the morning and felt as though a clawed hand reached for her, breaking through the bed frame and ripping through the pillow. It followed the arc of her head and reached for her hair, then returned, grasp-less into the nothing of dreams. Robert was already dressed.
“I would understand if you didn’t want to join me,” he said.
“I’ll make you breakfast, do you have time?”
“Sure, I do,”
“I have all day to sleep,”
“I’m sorry to go in on a Saturday, I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important,”
“I know, stop apologizing,”
“I’m learning you like me better with my mouth shut. Just promise me you’ll never leave me,”
“I don’t know why you say things like that,” she looked at the toaster.
The toast popped up and she saw ghostly eyes in the tile behind the counter. His eyes, someh
