CLAIRE ANDERSON
I lie in the darkness, my body rigid beneath the expensive sheets, and I can't stop thinking about the absurdity of my situation. The man whose hands have traced every curve of my body, whose mouth has explored places I'd never let anyone see, treats me now like a stranger he accidentally brought home from a business dinner. He's seen me naked. He's been inside me. He whispered my name in the dark like it meant something, and now he walks past my door at 2 AM without even a knock, without even a pause, like I'm furniture he's learned to ignore. I press my palms against my eyes and try to push the thought away, but it clings like a stubborn stain, refusing to fade.
I've replayed that night a hundred times, searching for some sign that the man in my bed was the same man wh
