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"Isaac?"
"Hmm." He sounds like he’s half asleep.
"Isaac." I pull back, and he groans then turns over onto his back.
"I’m exhausted, Lena, can’t this wait?"
"Why are we still together, Isaac?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why are we together? It’s not like we’re attracted to each other anymore."
He throws his arm over his eyes. "I’m trying to sleep."
"And I’m trying to have a conversation."
He makes a sound of frustration. "What is this, an inquisition into our sex life? We just had sex, Lena."
"Yesterday. We had sex yesterday, and it was over before I even came."
He lowers his arm and glances at me. "What do you mean? You came, Lena."
I narrow my gaze. He blinks.
"I mean, you did come, didn’t you?"
"I’ve never come when we’ve had sex," I inform him.
"You haven’t?" He scowls. "That can’t be right." He glances past me and I sense him searching through his memories. "No, definitely not. That first time—"
"You were comforting me, when Ben" —I glance away— "when Ben was in the accident."
"We came back from his funeral, and we were both so upset. I found you sobbing in your bed and held you."
"And one thing led to another, and we had sex. We found comfort in each other."
"Nothing wrong with that," he points out.
"We should have never gotten together, Isaac."
"Hold on." His scowl deepens. "I wasn’t in love with Ben."
"But he had a crush on you. I knew it—" I explain.
"And it’s why you never responded to my overtures. But after he died—"
I wince.
"After his accident" —he softens his voice— "you were lonely. And I felt terrible for you."
"You felt sorry for me. What we had was a pity fuck... Which became a habitual fuck."
This time he winces. "I wouldn’t call it that."
"It’s time someone put a name to what we have."
"And I suppose you’re going to do that?" He lowers his chin to his chest, a long-suffering look on his face.
