Scandalized

Thirteen

Without Alec, the hotel room feels enormous and eerily quiet. Daylight streams in, painting a band of gold across the bottom half of the bed. I straighten my legs, inching my toes into the stripe of warmth.

The windows are such good quality that they block out all the street noise outside. The sheets beneath me still smell like Alec’s soap from his shower last night. I roll into his pillow, placing myself in an Alec isolation chamber.

I tried to read for a while; I tried to write.