The Boston Moment, Part 1

Somewhere between crying, and listening to Seth smash things while yelling at people on the phone, I fall asleep. When I open my eyes, it's still dark. I smooth my palm over the cold space beside me and blink at the sitting room light as it filters through the crack in the door.

I slide off the bed and wobble unsteadily on my feet. The pain in my thigh and hip feels more stiff than throbbing, but it still hurts whenever my thigh muscle clenches. I make it to the bedroom door and I grasp the handle, easing it open.

I make my way down the stairs, scanning the area for Seth.

But he's nowhere to be seen.

"Seth?" I call out. Did he leave me here alone? "Seth?"

I reach the bottom of the stairs and stand next to a haphazardly swept pile of porcelain and stone. Against the bottom step, a dustpan and brush sit. I clench my jaw against the pain as I crouch and grab the brush and better group the sharp materials. Then, I take the pan and sweep as much of the glass into it as I can.