Had I closed them?
I didn't remember.
I didn't want to remember.
The soup was warm, and the blanket was soft, and the door was closed, and Matt wasn't asking questions, and for a little while, I let myself pretend that none of it had happened.
That I was just a woman who'd wandered into a bar at six in the morning, tired and hungry and lost.
That the blood on my hands was paint, or dirt, or something else entirely.
That I hadn't killed anyone.
That I wasn't hunting a ghost.
That Gabriel was still with me, and I was still his, and the world still made sense.
But the world didn't make sense.
It hadn't made sense in a long time.
And pretending didn't change anything.
He came back an hour later.
I'd finished the soup. I'd drunk another glass of water. I was still sitting on the couch, the blanket wrapped around me, my hands folded in my lap.
"Better?"
"A little."
"Good."
He sat in a chair across from me. Not too close. Not too far. Close enough to talk, far enough to give me space.
"You said your name is Bunny."
"Yes."
"Is that your real name?"
"It's the only one I have."
He nodded, like that made sense.
"Where are you from, Bunny?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you staying?"
"I have an apartment. Somewhere. I don't remember the address."
"Do you have any family? Anyone I can call?"
"No."
"Friends?"
