The bottle of PrEP tucked far into the sock drawer isn’t mine. It’s not his either, right? Carpet makes for good company, burning against my knees. Why are there so many tears? I need water. Maybe air.

 

Is that me in the mirror? I’ve got to get out of here. As I reach for the knob, the world itself turns.

 

His key jams into the lock. Does he know? The door is opening, but ours just closed.

 

He brushes past me, running straight for the bedroom. He knows. An explicit curse bellows through the air. My teeth are gnashing against one another. I try to scream, but sob instead. It’s over.

 

Tomorrow, I’m leaving.

 

So, are you coming along?

 

— Dark humor meets Midwest melancholy in this journey to escape a broken world, and ultimately, forge new connections