She turns slowly in her seat, a baggy T-shirt covering her slim body and ending at her upper thighs. Her exposed skin is pale and the dark room makes her look that much paler. Her viridian eyes give her away the most, though. Nothing but sadness stares back at me.

My body is pulled to her, and I can’t help it. I can’t stand that look in her eyes. Before I can tell her I love her and I’m sorry, before I can come up with some lame excuse, she cuts me off.

“I wanted to last night,” she says and then crosses her arms. She looks uncomfortable and unnatural. Like she’s doing what she thinks she should be doing, not what she wants. “When you texted me and then I texted you back. I was ready to talk then.”

“I’m here now,” I offer and walk closer to her, the floorboards creaking gently. There’s a set of chairs in the corner of the room from our first apartment and I almost drag one over, but I’m too afraid to break eye contact with her. It’s progress. I’ll be damned if I stop progress for a place to sit.

At least she’s looking at me, talking to me, receptive to what I have to say.

“Ask me whatever you want.” My voice is calm but deep down I’m screaming. Because I know I’ll answer her. I’ll tell her everything just to take that pain away, even if it’s only temporary, even if it fucks her too.

Her doe eyes widen slightly and she cowers back, swallowing before answering me. “Aren’t you tired?” she says softly and her eyes flicker to the door and then to the floor.

She doesn’t want to know the truth.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. But I’m not going to bed until you do.” I lick my lips and clear my throat, hoping she’ll give in to me. For nearly the past year when I’m home, I’ve tried to stay up with her or brush off the fact that I’d pass out while she was still working and vice versa. Not tonight, not from this point forward. The advice my father gave me on our wedding night was to go to bed together. I should have listened. I’ll make it better, I can at least fix that.

“I can stay up for you,” I say, offering her the suggestion. It’s not what she wants, but it’s something.

“Well, this has to get done, and it’s going to take hours.”

“I can wait,” I tell her but the second the words slip out she turns back to the computer and says, “Don’t.”

With her back to me and her fingers already flying across the keys again, I’ve never felt more alone and crestfallen.