At night he goes back to his apartment, and she stands naked in front of the terrarium, watching the snake digest. She reaches her hand inside, touches the swelling, and is almost certain that she feels the mouse breathe. The snake watches lazily, slipping its tongue in and out, and she knows that it is tasting the air for her.

Fred takes her to a concert. There are crowds of men and women outside the building, all wearing black eyeliner on their lips. Their shoes lift them several feet into the air—platforms of dark foam rubber.

The bar is a corridor filled with smoke. There are colored lights at the end for the stage and a small bulb near the cash register for the bartender to count the money. They get drinks and slide into a booth in the corner, his jeans pressed against her knee. The band tunes their instruments and begins to scream. Her ears close out, as if she were going underwater. And this is when Fred leaves her. He gets up to get another drink and never comes back.

As the band finishes their set, she feels a sudden and suspended sense of loss, that strange, floating moment of clarity before falling down a flight of stairs. Fred has left a package of cigarettes in the booth. There is one remaining inside and she dissects it, cutting the paper down the middle, removing the filter, sprinkling the tobacco across the carved-up table, and then lifting her fingers, wanting to eat the scent.

That night she unlocks the terrarium. It is a dare, really. A way of showing that she is not afraid. The snake is in its hiding place. She waits for a moment, to see if it will sense its freedom and come out. When it doesn’t she places the phone next to her bed, turns off the lights, and goes to sleep.

She dreams of Mr. Green. He is standing naked at the foot of her bed, the top of his skull open and empty. Her lab partner has been hard at work. The skin on the arms and legs is peeled away. The tendons revealed. The musculature tagged and labeled. Mr. Green reaches for her and she starts, aware of something in the covers. She finds the snake curled at her feet, his tail wrapped around her ankle, a comforting tightness. The sliding, moving pressure across her Achilles tendon spreads up her leg and makes her feel heavy, weighted, as she leans against the pillows.