The zipper was the loudest thing in the house.
Two in the morning. Spare room. I had one bag half full — campus shirts, the hoodie the toy had lived in, a charger. I was still wearing his T-shirt. Collar on. His c*m had dried on my thighs and then I had gotten wet again standing there like leaving was a thought I could finish.
I pulled the zipper.
The hall light was already on.
Cole stood in the doorway of the spare room with nothing on his face I could use. Not rage. Inventory. He looked at the bag. He looked at my bare legs. He looked at the collar I had not taken off to pack.
“You were told I would hear that.”
“I wasn’t—” The lie died. “I don’t know how to stay.”
“You stay by putting the bag down.”
I didn’t. My hand stayed on the handle like the canvas was a door.
He crossed th
