The story so far:
I didn't stay long enough to watch him finish his cigarette. He stood on the balcony, his damp body absorbing the chilly air that he stood and steadily smoked in. I searched for my discarded t-shirt, deciding to neglect any exerting attempt at redeeming myself through ragged hair and smeared make-up. I silently cursed myself for choosing boots that required a solid twenty-five seconds to lace properly. I bit my swollen bottom lip, an obnoxiously sore remnant of his unbridled sexuality. I stopped my mind from carrying this idea further. **** it. I smoothed back my tangled, matted hair; discarding distant memories of rough hands and fingernails, ragged breathing and unsuppressed groans. I quickly buttoned my sweater, as if the faster I left, the faster his memory would too. The balcony screen began to slide open and I reached for the front door handle.
I paused, recovered and murmured the response I had recited fives times already in my mind, "Before the roads get icy. You know how it is."
He stayed where he was, as if not to encourage me. His head slowly nodded, as he propped his arm on the doorway and seemed to wait for me to leave, like it wouldn't be polite for him move first. "Okay then...We'll talk soon," he seemed to say as an afterthought, a gentle nudge toward the exit.
I nodded back, even though I knew that he knew he was lying. "Yeah. Soon," I replied, restraining the bitterness I felt from seeping through my words. I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me, fighting the urge to glance back at him once more. I walked quickly, trying to step quietly, irritated with the clanking of my heels on the hollow walkway, irritated that they seemed to expose my failing and considerably pathetic attempt at control. I smirked with disgust at myself and then tried to recover my sinking sense of respect. As I crawled into the driver's seat, lowering into the sagging, ripped and dirty upholstry; I saw my own reflection and couldn't help but wince.