She’s mad because I spent the evening playing poker with her roommates, and she doesn’t feel at home walking into her own apartment, me making friends with everyone and her changing quietly in her bedroom. She pushes away from me when I pull her in and tell her You’re home.

Fine, I’ll sleep on the couch, I tell her when it’s time to go to bed, and she says, No, and grabs my body, holds on tight, and says I’m not leaving.

I’ll catch a bus. Let me go.

She does.

I go for the door knob, but then I don’t.

When you leave, I’m just going to kill myself, she says with a smile, tears dripping into the corners of her mouth. 

I’ll sleep on the floor then, I tell her. I toss my winter coat on the floor and lie down under her bed.