There is a long moment where neither of us move. And then Victor groans – not the kind of groan he made just a few minutes ago, but the sound of a very tired man. He rolls back away from me, moving his hand from my hip.
Suddenly cold and awkward without the solid warmth of him behind me, I sit up and reach for my tshirt, which lays crumpled a foot away. As I do this, Victor pulls up his pants and re-buckles his belt, not looking at me. I pull the shirt over my head.
Then, we face each other, silent, sitting on my kitchen floor, me with my feet curled beneath me, him with his back against the cabinet, his legs bent in front of him and arms resting slack on top of his knees.
I don’t say a word, but stare at him, trying to gauge his emotions. Victor’s face is complex as he looks back at
