Thinking, crying, swearing. I can’t bear to smell myself — primordial rot — I need to take a shower before maggots start growing in my armpits. I’m completely tattered. He’s gone. Amar. He took me and now he’s gone. What an incredible phony he was. But I liked him. Loved him? I am thinking (as I lie here) about how good it felt when I fell asleep in his arms. On that tacky sofa inside that cabin. It’s embarrassing now to think, but I imagined us falling asleep like that forever. Except in a nicer room — a master bedroom. He was so smart. Maybe too smart: he figured out how to trick me into getting close to him, naked in the snow. Into thinking he wasn’t just a stripped down, fancy-talking Casanova. I miss him. I have spoken to Steven once on the phone. Yesterday. I told him nothing was wrong and that I have merely come down with a flu-type thing that has confined me to my bed.
