Citater
SATURDAY
Oh God. Here you go again, hanging over me, invading my sleep with your morning breath. As my eyes flicker open, you linger over me for a long moment, nuzzling my neck and furtively assessing my reaction. I feel your arms tremble.
When you get no response, you slide off with a disgusted grunt. Even though I’m still half-asleep, I sense the guilt-seeking rays emanating from your half-turned back. I roll over and away.
But you just can’t let me be, can you? The pointed buzzing of an electric toothbrush, the pedantic click of a wardrobe door, a coat-hanger’s righteous jangle – your busy-busy faffing is just enough to break my spell. I am conscious, and there’s no escaping it. No escaping you.
Today, I think. Let it be today that I find a way.
‘Come on!’ you say. ‘We should have left by now!’
And I think: Next week.
Oh God. Here you go again, hanging over me, invading my sleep with your morning breath. As my eyes flicker open, you linger over me for a long moment, nuzzling my neck and furtively assessing my reaction. I feel your arms tremble.
When you get no response, you slide off with a disgusted grunt. Even though I’m still half-asleep, I sense the guilt-seeking rays emanating from your half-turned back. I roll over and away.
But you just can’t let me be, can you? The pointed buzzing of an electric toothbrush, the pedantic click of a wardrobe door, a coat-hanger’s righteous jangle – your busy-busy faffing is just enough to break my spell. I am conscious, and there’s no escaping it. No escaping you.
Today, I think. Let it be today that I find a way.
‘Come on!’ you say. ‘We should have left by now!’
And I think: Next week.
He nearly chokes as an involuntary intake of
Did he love her? He loved parts of her. But the question isn’t whether or not he loved her. The question is… did he kill her?
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