SHE:
Is laying in bed with the door locked the curtains are drawn and
lights off. The notebook is in the DVD
player. An empty tub of ice cream is on the floor next to dozens
of crumpled tissues. She's got her
music blasting, so loud no one can hear her sobs. Her fingertips
are smudged with black from wiling
away mascara-strained tears. She's reloading their last
conversation, thinking I'll never get
him back.
HE:
Is sitting on the edge of his bed with door locked. The curtains
are drawn and lights off. Call of Duty in
the xbox. The controller is laying on the floor, right beneath
the spot where he nearly punched the wall in his own frustration.
He's got his music blasting so
loud, so nobody can hear his cries. His hair's a mess from
running his hands through it. And he's replaying their last
conversation, thinking shell never take
me
.back..
