For the last face.

For the time being, I’m content; for the time being. The flames that had risen to the penthouse suite have subsided and these days I catch myself staring at the blank canvas on the easel, unable to set the record straight.

I haven’t been alone. I met her last Saturday and we had sex on our first date. She didn’t want to at first, but we ran out of things to talk about. We haven’t spoken since, but she comes over every night. I think she’s been moving her things in. I don’t recognize half of the clutter in my studio.

The dreams are still a problem. I wake up in the middle of the night with my face against the hardwood floor—the floor is slippery with sweat and tears.

Will you please turn off the lights.

Yesterday I came home drunk and almost fell into the laundry chute. It wouldn’t have been the first time. It would have been the second. The first time left me with a fractured collarbone and the best painkillers I’ve ever abused my prescription of. You laugh, but they’re absolutely fantastic.

Come sit over here. So I can stop having to look behind me. Tell me about you. What have you been up to?

I can’t complain. I mean I can; you know me, but I won’t. We sold the condo in Boca, finally, and Courtney just finished her first semester at Vanderbilt. I couldn’t be happier with Raphael, either. He still finds ways of making me laugh. I always thought you two should meet. You’d really like him.

As far as me, I’m still a mess. Ever since the move, I’ve been a little nervous. Yes, nervous of running into you. Don’t make that face. I always hated that face. Stop, you’re making me laugh and I really shouldn’t be right now. It still hurts, you know. So tell me more about this girl you’ve been seeing.

No.

Wow, ok. Sorry. Just thought you’d want to talk about her seeing as she’s the reason you’re not so lonely anymore and everything.

I think you should leave.