The Train Was a Distant Memory
Elizabeth Ellen

The house was full of sleeping people. They stepped over and around them.
He rinsed glasses, emptied bottles. She stood close and watched. His shirt brushed her arm. Three months had passed. The train was a distant memory. Her ex was in his car in the garage.
He called her sweetie, baby, his mouth so close to hers. She shook her head against his collarbone. She did not want to go to bed so soon. She was fighting him already. She would fight him as long as she had to.

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