Page 142 of Trusting You

Asher casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Dude, you really gotta work on your communication skills.”

“Like you don’t?”

“Yeah, but I’m comfortable with my inability to look deep inside a woman, other than the obvious. You’re clearly in love with this one. What’s she have, a nacho-flavored vagina?”

I bare my teeth. “Don’t you fuckin’—”

“See?” Asher shows all his teeth with a grin. “Told ya.”

“Get lost.”

“Gladly. This soap opera ain’t my kinda show. Catch you later, H.”

“Uh-huh.”

Once he leaves, my head falls back into the airless pillows, and I curse at the ceiling.

I’m pretty sure, after a good few years of trying, I’ve sunk as low as I can go.

And it doesn’t feel as comfortably numb as I wish it would.

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