We settled in and I’m living by the day. The Guy has “quirks” but he calls them “tics” but whatever they are, they make me very uncomfortable. We share a bedroom, bathroom, everything. The wallpaper is this ugly vintage pattern left to spite me. The computer sits in a corner, away from the windows. So, when The Guy is gone I gotta shut the curtains to keep it dark inside. Sometimes The Guy doesn’t come home. I don’t care. The Guy asks me what I want to do, if I’ve ever considered vocational training. “It’s not too late,” The Guy insists but he says it with that holier-than-thou nasally voice I fucking hate. Let’s not unpack that stuff right now. The Guy is definitely as much of a loser as I am. His family would rather not know about us. Can’t say I remember much of what I do anymore. Everything’s a sweaty, sticky blur-dream.