She hitched herself up onto the bed a little further and leant towards with one arm stretched over my body for support.
“Thing is,” she said, slowly, “I had to see you to get the whole picture. Get it all in line.” With her free hand she brushed back her long, black hair. “Like there’s a puzzle with a bit missing, and you’re the bit.”
“Me.”
“Maybe. That little piece that you really need to get it sorted.”
“Sorted?”
“Yes,” she drew the final consonant out a remarkably long time. Maybe she lisped as a child. If she had been a child.
She leaned closer to me again.
“Don’t you want things sorted?”
She really could be amazing things with a simple S, hissing her mouth into a smile.
“Things?” I asked.
“Things,” she said, and I realised that I would have to try and steer the conversation
