it’s his.
“What’s with the smug smile? Hit a milestone in your lil’ castle game while shittin’ this morning or somethin’? Why the fuck you all chipper this early?”
His stupid smirk kicks up?—
“Dunno. Sun’s out. Abs lookin’ fire.
“You’re walkin’ around with no pants on.”
He sips his shake. “Life’s good.”
I sink into my usual seat at the breakfast table,
hugging my knee to my chest,
facing the window.
Three empty chairs surround me,
seats always cold.
On the other side of the glass,
the city stretches out.
Skyscrapers. Streets. Always endless.
Ben sets coffee in front of me.
I lift my mug.
“You seen B yet or he still knocked out?”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“All I know is, wouldn’t bank on gettin’ your usual mornin’lickety-lick.”
I freeze halfway through a sip,
mug hovering near my mouth.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
He taps his shaker bottle against the sink.
“Means he ain’t here.”
Stillness stretches around me.
The one silent second before a pick hits guitar strings,
hand held halfway there.
“He’s here. Don’t play with me this early.”
But Ben’s not smirking.
“He’s gone, Baby.”
