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His lips curl into a smile, but it's not in his hazel eyes. They're tired. Somehow, his short, all-business brown hair is messy.
How can hair that short possibly be messy?
He's wearing a black t-shirt and the black bow-tie print pajamas bottoms I bought him for his birthday last year.
I can still remember him unwrapping the present and shooting me a smile.
"Hey, they're stylish." He tugs at the bottoms.
"They are." I bite my tongue. This isn't my life anymore. I don't want it to be my life anymore.
But it's tempting to think about falling back into it.
I miss familiar.
I miss comfortable.
I miss not feeling like everything is up in the air.
He takes a step backwards. "Come in."
I do. Same scratchy beige carpet. Same off-white walls. The door makes that same creak as I press it closed. The lock sticks at the same place.
The den slash kitchen is the same too. Well, it's cleaner with just Adam here. He's always been neat. I'm more… tidiness challenged.
I have to keep my tongue between my teeth. This is familiar in the strangest way. It was a good life, but it wasn't mine.
Adam was a good boyfriend. He loved me. He still loves me.
If I asked, he'd love me forever.
But we never quite saw eye to eye in certain ways.
Who am I kidding? It wasn't that Adam didn't get my need to pick apart lyrics. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate film.
It was sex.
I know it.
Adam knows it.
It's heavy in the air, all that you left because of sex tension.
I swallow hard. "I hate to rush you, but I have a meeting."
He nods. "Your stuff is in the closet."
"Thanks." I pull my arm across my chest. The air conditioning is turned way up in here. My thin dress isn't enough. "Should I get it or would you rather?"
His hazel eyes fill with sadness. It's bizarre, looking at my college sweethear
t, asking him if I should go to our bedroom or if he'd rather keep me out of it.
It's not our bedroom anymore.
It's not our apartment.
This isn't my life.
