I close out of the news articles as my skin heats up with prickling anxiety. I feel physically ill. I’m cursing myself for reading this crap—I’m clearly not ready, and the wounds are still too fresh. Too raw. And I sure as fuck hope that Cora isn’t reading any of it.

I lean back against my couch cushions, closing my eyes as I try to get a handle on my breathing. Two dogs were confiscated off the premises and are being held at animal control. One was a German Shepherd and the other was a Yorkie mix. Neither dogs looked threatening from the photographs. In fact, they looked terrified and malnourished—a far cry from the rabid beasts I’d pictured gnawing on our skeletons. I wonder what kind of horrors Earl subjected those poor animals to.

At least they had each other.

I grab my cell phone off the side table when it starts to vibrate, not overly excited to see Mandy’s name staring back at me. And that makes me feel even shittier than I already do.

Mandy: Can’t wait to see u later babe! Pick u up at 7 :) :)

Mandy is hosting her annual New Year’s Eve bash tonight. Usually, we host it at my townhouse because it’s bigger than her modest two-bedroom apartment, but given my current state of harrowing misery, we both agreed it would be better if she took care of the festivities this year. I honestly had no intention of going—ringing in the new year with a handle of vodka and my progressive rock playlist sounded far more appealing.

But Cora will be there.

I haven’t seen her since that confusing, hangover-infused post-Christmas morning, but we’ve talked on the phone every night since.

We don’t talk about how we woke up in each other’s arms, spooning, our legs impossibly entwined and my hand up her tank top.

The timeline of those early morning hours is hazy at best. I vaguely recall an Uber ride with a driver I was convinced was Kurt Cobain, and I kept asking for his autograph, followed by the smell of Cora’s daffodil hair quieting my demons and her warm breath against my neck lulling me to sleep. I remember a nightmare forcing me awake. And I remember eventually falling into the most comfortable sleep I’ve had in almost two months… despite the raging migraine I woke up to at almost noon the next day.

When Cora finally untangled herself from my arms and our eyes met, there was an unspoken promise that we would never speak of it again.

So, we haven’t.

And sometimes we don’t speak much at all—simply knowing the other one is on the opposite end of the line, breathing and alive, safe and warm, is a solace in itself.

“Oh, my God, Dean!”

“You look good!”

“Thank goodness you’re okay!”

I wouldn’t say I look good, but I did manage to find a clean shirt that didn’t smell like last week, and I finally made the effort to shave, leaving just a shadow of stubble along my jaw.