His eyes stared back at her blankly, as if no one was behind them. There was a hazy film coating his pupils. She could hardly remember the colour of his eyes now.
Sometimes he would wake up crying. She felt that his tears were like his secrets. They were leaking out of him when he could hardly handle how many lies he’d filled up on.
The living room was always obscured by a cloudy vapour. Come sit with me, she patted the cushion of the used couch where she had sprawled out in his old shirt.
He stared at her with those dead eyes.
His phone was like a stove top turned on high. Sometimes she would notice it sitting there. She knew that if she touched it she would have to deal with the consequences; searing burns that would become scars.