NOTHING. more. than. fiction.
As he stood up to put his clothes back on, rushing to leave before the sunlight, she looked at him and felt nothing.
She wasn’t sure, though, it could have been the alcohol, or she was probably still in a state of shock-
How could she have allowed this to happen—again.
Maybe she felt nothing because she was so used to getting hurt. Was that a bad thing?
It took him a about 10 seconds to get dressed (who the hell gets dressed that fast), but she was too lazy to get up and say goodbye.
So she lay there, looking at him, waving-- no, “shooing” him goodbye. She didn’t want to stand up, open the door for him and watch him walk away.
Not again. Not this time.
She was sure. She felt nothing.
And maybe nothing was good.