Her restful sleep faded in an instant. Vincent lay next to her, flat on his back, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest. He slept like he did everything else, intense and focused. Even in his dreams he had straight, smooth posture. His leg pressed against hers. She didn’t mind. But it was time to go. Instinct told her to say a silent goodbye or risk a pointless argument. The time allotted to her faded away, almost gone. There was nothing Vincent could do about it. Her parents held her strings. A bittersweet ache built in her heart, a storm cloud of tears and loss ready to rage. She shoved it aside. It would have to wait. It could have its reign when she was far away, when she could afford to remember what had been. She sat up and crawled over him one limb at a time and stepped to the cold floor. She gazed down at him, waited, but he didn’t wake up. Vincent was sound asleep. It seemed out of character for him to be so blind to his surroundings. The aftereffects of the sex, she thought.
