He was at her door again. He turned up whenever he was pissed off at the world.
She let him in and led him through to her bedroom. No words were spoken. That was the one thing they had agreed upon. It made it easier to pretend he was someone else. To pretend she was someone else.
They didn't take their time; there were no preliminaries. They were only using each other for those endless moments of nothingness. And when it came she basked in that nothingness. It was the only time she could silence her mind, silence the self loathing for what she had allowed her life to become.
She didn't move as he climbed from the bed, nor when he closed the front door behind him.
The first time she'd felt dirty and ashamed. Now she didn't feel anything.
He would be back again soon. They both craved those moments of oblivion.
End.