Hate Is A Big Word

{ARMANDO}

"It wasn't a sleepover, Carl."

"It was, and you loved it," Carl responds and leaves for the bathroom. 

I hear the shower running and then his loud voice. He sings a song I can't understand. He comes back with a towel only on his chest, he walks to the walk-in wardrobe. "Why aren't there any clothes in here?"

"Are they rugs?" I ask him and cover my head.

He answers nothing and lets me wallow in my early morning thoughts. I am broken, I am sad, and I am pathetic. I wish I had a way of turning them off.

I spent the whole night figuring that out, unfortunately, it appears as if my mind and its friend called brain, won't give me peace.

"Armando, darling," Carl calls.

I smile broadly and uncover myself, "yes?"

"It was a wonderful sleepover; we should do this again." He says while tying his shoes, my shoes.

"It wasn't. And I didn't invite you, you brought your ass." I tell him and sit up.