The faucet in the men's lavatory was taking too long for the heat to kick in. I filled the basin with dingy lukewarm tap water until it was full and submerged my head in completely.

My thoughts went back to a few weeks before. She was laying sprawled out on our deep red bedsheets, looking at me with those bedroom eyes she was so good at. "Come massage my feet," she cooed. I couldn't resist those eyes. She had large feet for a girl, but her eyes made up for those giant toes. Massages always lead into what I like to call the good stuff.

It started raining then. As tacky as that sounds, rain reminds me of home. She was home, even though we lived in an efficiency apartment with hand-me-down furniture. It didn't bother us any. Afterwards, we lay tangled in those blood red sheets, the ones she insisted we splurge on because they felt smoother than the other types at the store; because they matched the red streaks she had dyed in her hair shortly before purchasing the linens. Her breath was hot against my chest as she started to doze, and my eyes crept slowly down, slipping inevitably into sleep.

But a noise... a noise woke us from our lazy dreams. She looked up startled, and squinted into the darkness of our small flat. Her face turned towards me giving that, "I'm the girl, and you're supposed to protect me, so go check out that strange noise now" look. With a light stroke to her hair, I squeezed out of bed into the awkward stillness.