I didn't turn on the lights and just dove into the blankets, burying my head in the pillows, crying as hard as I ever had. I kept expecting Sara to come in and flip on the lights, but she didn't and at some point I ran out of tears and passed out. I woke the next morning, my eyelids stuck closed, adhered by a mixture of salt and makeup. My hair was a rat's nest and my entire body ached. My stomach growled and sand still clung to my feet beneath the sheets. The sun streamed into the window and warmed my face, forcing me to acknowledge that it was time to surface, to wake up and face the day. I kicked off the sheets and blankets and walked to the bathroom. I looked like a raccoon that had lost a fight. I washed my face, scrubbing it entirely clean and then took a brush to my hair, pulling through the knots, the pain of brushing them out my own special sort of punishment. I stripped out of my clothes and put on a pair of cotton shorts and an old Chargers T-shirt.
