In the suite, Derek sleeps steadily, chest rising and falling beneath the duvet of the bed across from me, the one I insisted not sleeping in. I didn’t wish to impose. In the corner, my navy duffel bag of my repackaged life, extra big, sags over, sinking into itself. The weight of conspiracies has affected it, too.
All the while I’m wriggling in bed, half-asleep, in a black nightgown, rolling around sweaty sheets. The pull out bed-converted-sofa could kill me with its softness, so it’s not that nettling me.
I shut my eyes, a headache seizing over me.
It is not kindness I’m investigating out of. Maybe a pat on the back from Yazmin contributed to my reasons, but the flaws in my plan stack against me. Within a month, I alienated my friends from one another and me, got hit on weirdly by O
