By Timothy Lantz

“Damn.”

He stood. Naked. Looking out the window of his fifth floor apartment. The clock blazed 3:47 in the darkness. He wanted nothing more than to surrender to sleep, to let this reality slip from his conscious mind. In fact, he was nearly there. As he lay, his eyes were on the verge of sealing.

Then she rolled over.

Her hand unconsciously flailing, the rock, in her ring, stabbing him in the back. It sent a tiny jolt of electricity through his body, enough, however, to make sleep impossible.

Outside the world seemed frozen, nothing disturbing the quiet stillness.

He turned and watched her sleep.

She was breathing heavy, not snoring, just loud exhales. Still, he wanted to stuff a pillow over her head. After all, she was nothing to him, just another rich man’s wife looking for someone to relieve her boredom.

Hours ago, it seemed like a good idea. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He had enjoyed her and she was pretty, but soon it would be morning and then what? Would he be expected to make small talk? Maybe exchange numbers? Surely she wouldn’t allow him to call her. There would be too much risk.

If only he had let her go when he had the chance.