Dante
Sleep won't come.
I've been staring at the ceiling for two hours. Counting the cracks. Listening to the sounds of Marina's apartment settle around me.
The refrigerator hums. A car passes on the street below. Someone in the building above drops something heavy.
My side throbs with each heartbeat. The pain medication wore off an hour ago, but I don't want to call for Marina. She needs rest more than I need relief.
Fuck.
I need to use the bathroom.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Plant my feet on the floor. Push myself upright.
The room tilts. Steadies.
One step. Two. Three.
I make it to the door. Open it slowly.
The hallway is dark except for the blue glow coming from the living room. The television.
Marina's still awake.
I should go straight to the bathroom. Handle my business. Return to bed.
But my feet carry me toward the light instead.
She's on the couch. Knees pulled up to her chest. A blanket wrapped around her shoulders like armor.
Her eyes are red.
She's been crying.
On the screen, a ship cuts through dark water. Violins play.
Marina's thumb hovers over the remote. She pauses the movie when she sees me.
"Did you need something?"
Her voice is rough. Thick with tears she's trying to hide.
I look at the frozen image on the screen. The ship. The woman. The stars reflected on black water.
"Is that Titanic?"
Marina wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes."
"You're crying over a movie."
It comes out wrong. Flat. Confused.
She stiffens. "People cry at movies, Dante. It's normal."
Normal.
I don't know what that word means anymore.
