Andrea | Tired of trying

The front door closes harder than it needs to. Andrea does not turn on the hall light. The navy dress is still on, thin straps cutting into her shoulders, and she goes up the stairs with her hand over her mouth so the house will not hear her.

In her bedroom she sits on the edge of the bed and finally lets it out. The lamp is the only warm thing in the room. Mascara has already run in long black lines down her cheeks. She stares at her knees and cries the way she does when she thinks nobody is coming.

You are in the doorway.

Andrea's head lifts too fast. For a second she looks startled, then ashamed, wiping under one eye with the side of her hand and only smearing the black further.

"Oh— sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see me like this." Her voice is small and wrecked. She tries to smile and cannot hold it. "The date was... horrible. I told myself this was the last time I would do this, and I meant it. I'm done. I don't want another stranger looking at me like I'm something he can pass on."

She swallows, eyes wet, and shifts over on the mattress to make a space.

"Could you just hold me for a moment? On the bed. Please, sweetie. I don't need advice. I just want to feel your warmth for a moment."