She walked over and turned on the radio to break the silence. He shuffeled his feet to the bed side, sitting where he knew she would sit instinctively. She felt his warmth and collapsed into his lap like a child. She clung to his neck and smiled past her tears, fighting her urge to run, hide, or hate him.

Holding her in his arms made him remember why he had been drinking. Why they had fought. Why he had felt as though he had broken her completely.

He began to speak and couldn't form his thought. So he just wiped away her tear and held her away a bit to read her face. She looked away, ashamed that he was crying, ashamed that she made him so weak, ashamed that now all she could see was defeat in his deep green eyes.

He looked at her, intent on seeking the feelings that she hid. Her thoughts of shame and despair overwhelmed him and his knees went weak. He unabashedly pulled her close again, knowing that she would allow him to pull her tight.

They collected their tears in a well of remorse, forgiving and forgetting conciously together.

He picked up her laungerie and folded it neatly. He threw his dirty tee shirt in the laundry and peeled off the layers of beer and sweat soaked clothes he now had on. First his button down once crisp dress shirt, then his white undershirt, now his belt and jeans.

She walked in, shaking her hair out on her towel and, with her eyes closed nearly stumbled over him. She wrapped her robe closer as her eyes met his. The tears welled up again and she almost lost control.

They embraced and he melted into her shoulder, weeping softly.

He shook his head as he looked at the room. The memory of the night clung to him thick. He had bee drinking all night since the argument for the sole purpose of forgetting the evening, and he couldn't escape from his pain. Every drink just made him feel worse, and now, all he could do was cry. Whether it was the sight of the disrupted bedroom, the smell of her bathsoap floatng through the apartment, or the fact that he had spent the whole night without her, he couldn't tell.

His tears fell heavy and hot as she shut off the water and dried herself off, feeling atleast a little lifted...

An odd feeling hung over her head as she cleared her thoughts and ran her shower. the steam of the water carressed every inch of her weary body, as if it needed her as much as she needed it. She climbed gingerly into the shower, nursing her sore muscles slowly through the motions of mounting the edge of the tub. She felt weightless as the water poured over her in waves of warm forgivness.

He stood in the doorway, silently watching her without being seen. Could he have spoken, would he have, he might have startled her. instead of announcing his entrance, he allowed that moment for silent reflection, and continued his tour to the open bedroom.

She woke up three hours too late to fix anything today. She shuffled, eyes half closed, to the bathroom. She had a slight intention of using the facilities, brushing her teeth and washing away her endless night. She turned the know, opened the door and saw the box on the counter. The box that had started the whole thing. The box that made him angry, the box that made him leave.

She crushed the cardboard in her shaking hand and ran to the window. Flinging herself upon it like a desperate bird, she opened the window with a loud thud and threw the beaten box out.

A temporary victory over her torment.

BEEP BEEP BEEP...

The last sound she heard was the ticking of the wall clock, and now, seemingly years later, her alarm woke her from three rooms away. She lifted her heavy body from the corner of the couch and realized that every fiber of her being was stiff. She crept down the hall, rubbing her neck, holding her side, hoping the alarm would not wake him. She found her way to the bedroom.

Their bed was empty and cool, dampened with the chill of the wet night air. With the alarm silenced, she climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

The clock ticked louder with every silent sigh.She collected her thoughts around the constant chatter of the wall clock, focusing on a piece of stained carpet next to where she lay crouched against the rough corner of the couch.

She had just caught her breath from crying as she wiped a wet tear from her throat. It had rolled down slowly from her eye uncollected, the last tear for atleast a moment. A breath, a sigh, then a feeling of complete exhaustion came over her. She thought of moving to pull a blanket over her, but she could not compel her limbs to obey.

Instead, she met a deep sleep the enveloped her.

She pulled back her wavy, wet brown hair and lifted her eyes slowly to survey the small apartment. It was dark and the cool night air made a breeze that whipped her white lace curtains in the wind. The rain had just ended and she could smell it clinging to the oak in the yard below.

A jingle, a footstep and her heart jumped. Could he be back so soon? She rushed to the door to discover the threshold empty; to see her neighbor slink into his apartment without a word.