“You can’t mean that,” she said, her voice trembling. “You don’t mean that!” She paused, listening, then screamed, “Well, fuck you too, you fucking bastard! I knew as soon as you got what you wanted, you’d leave! I hate you!” She slammed the phone back into its cradle, then rose from the floor of her living room where she’d been sitting. She looked down at the phone and considered kicking it, but her feet were bare and she didn’t feel like breaking it. That would have only made things worse. Instead of screaming, which is what she really felt like doing, she burst into tears and sagged against the wall, covering her face with her hands, as though ashamed of crying. She sank into a sitting position, and curled sideways, her head against the wall, which cooled her burning cheek and forehead. The wall felt so good. Cool and strong and comforting. She raised a hand and ran her fingertips across the wall’s rough surface. The feel of it soothed her and before she even realized it, she was no longer crying.
