He made no response and instead walked into the living room and repositioned the television remote to the left side of the coffee table, then walked to the side of the couch and moved a lamp on the end table I had bumped earlier. As he was doing this I tried wiping away the ring of milk I had spilled on his desk while eating breakfast.

“How long do you need to stay here?” he finally asked, and the obvious insinuation from his shitty tone was that the sooner I left the better off we’d all be.

“Not long. I spent all day applying for jobs. Going to do the same tomorrow. I’m guessing a week, maybe two,” I said, which was about half the time I actually believed I’d need.

The milk had dried. I couldn’t wipe it away. I swept into the kitchen and wetted a paper towel. When I came back out Jeff was already chipping it away with his thumbnail.

“I was just about to clean that,” I said.

He turned on the computer and said nothing further as I wiped up the milk. It was as though I wasn’t there. I tried looking over his shoulder as he entered his password but he typed too fast. I tossed the paper towel into the wastebasket, picked up my bag off the floor, walked into the bedroom. I lay on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure what I should do. I took out my wallet and counted how much money I had left. Two hundred and sixty-three dollars, which was a little less than what I thought there’d be. I took two hundred and buried it at the bottom of my underwear drawer, put the rest back into my wallet. From the living room where Jeff sat a pervasive tension penetrated the walls. I was uncomfortable, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to spend all night holed up in his room.