“I remember the night,” he spoke in a low tone, “you had called me crying.”
I shifted around in bed, and turned over to face him. The streetlight shining through the window casted a faint orange outline on his face.
“Why was I crying?” I asked. I laid my head on his chest as I listened for his voice. I could recall the amount of alcohol I had that night, but I couldn’t remember the call. He wrapped his arm around my bare torso and pulled me closer to him.
“You were drunk. I asked what was the matter, and you said,” he inhaled deeply, “you said you were afraid. And when I asked why, you said because you were falling in love with me.”