The floor is cold. My face hurts. You're not here anymore. I heard the tyres screeching. You left your cigarettes on the coffee table. I can see them from where I'm curled up, protecting my self as best I can.
I stand up, glancing at myself in the mirror. A purple stain is starting to form on my left cheek. I know you love me really, so I dimiss it. It's not your fault, only a mistake.