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The doors were cracked as I walked, pale yellow eyes peered out at me, looking scared and longing for help. I found room 21, and I pushed the key into the keyhole, I twisted the key, more scared then excited. I turned the knob and the door slowly creaked open, I walked in. I saw the room was in the same arrangement, but the bed cover was dull and gray, as were the under stuffed lumpy pillows. The night stands were cracked and rotting, about to fall apart where they stood. My head flew toward the corner where I had first seen Barbara, there was a shadowed figure sitting under an unlit lamp, the legs crossed and the hands on the thighs, just like she was sitting the first time I had seen her. “Barbara?” I whispered to the shape in the corner.The hand ominously floated from her thigh up to lamp a dull blue light came from the lamp shade, and I saw her face. Thank God, she was still the same. But there was a cold air about her, instead of the warm wet one I remember. Now her skin. ’ ‘Why not?’ he asked, curious. She shrugged again. Simon sat up now, concerned. Connie rarely refused to discuss anything outright, but he knew the signs. When she shrugged, when she avoided eye contact—that meant something was weighing on her and she was trying to keep it inside. ‘Come on, tell me. You know I won’t laugh.’ ‘It’s nothing.’ I should just tell him, she thought, but it seems so childish and silly. ‘It must be something,’ he countered. ‘You never do this. I’ve known you for how many years now? And we’ve split this place for almost three years. I’ve never seen you up all night.’ She looked exhausted. ‘It’s all right. I just haven’t wanted to go to bed yet.’ ‘I’m your boyfriend, remember?’ He smiled. ‘You have to tell me. That’s what couples do.’ Connie felt a lump form in her throat. He wasn’t her boyfriend, they were just ‘rehearsing,’ as Simon had once called it. Sometimes she forgot, but other times, like now, she was hyper conscious of it. She shook her head. ‘No, you.
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