Conrad wanted to say, Good, or So go, or, So stop talking, but he just grunted. He didn’t like her standing over him like this but he wasn’t about to stand up too just to say good-bye; she might try to hug him. He kept his head tucked down and tilted his hand to stare at it. The raw spot where he’d picked off his scab had now collected lint. Zhenya thought he was still her friend. (Or was that Zhenya saying she was still his friend? It didn’t feel like the same thing, but he couldn’t figure out what the difference was.)
They’d been better as friends than they’d ever been as a couple, anyway, Conrad thought bitterly; why hadn’t they realised it and gone back?
He said, “Yeah,†but could think of nothing to add to it; his brain had slowed all the way down, like it was stuck in mud.
But then Zhenya was gone. Conrad shook his head, as though to check it was still attached, and then sat up again. He wanted to throw something, so he did (the cushion next to him) and then he wanted to kick something, so he tried (the cushion was too far away even if he slouched) and then thumped his heel into his own chair (which hurt a lot, so he hit the arm of his chair too) but then his temper was spent and he felt like an idiot.
He was already lonely without her, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he got up and went to bed.
END
