When I awoke, I found myself on Charlie's couch. I had a slight headache – it was a long weekend. I had convinced Mara to join me in a bit of revelry, it was just what we both needed. We started out at a club; music and sexuality surrounded us. The evening made me wish Charlie was interested in being young and alive. By the time we had become exhausted with dancing, I got the idea to head out to gamble for the weekend. It may have been my moderate addiction, it may have been the stimulants that I consumed while dancing – I'm not sure what persuaded me to get out of town – I just wanted out.

Charlie has become so distant. I'm convinced he wants to break up, but doesn't have the balls to do it. I'm not going to grow a pair for him. I already dyed my hair a brilliant shade of red; he pretends that it entices him. I know this is a failed relationship, but I still want to see him. I can't say why, I don't love him anymore, I just feel comfortable with the convenience of coming back to a safe couch after a long weekend of sex, drugs and gambling.

I assume that Charlie has no idea of my infidelity. If he had any awareness, he'd yell and scream; he would make a fuss in his typical infantile manner, and once again he would disgust me. I don't think he's stupid, per se, I just imagine that he'd rather deny the obvious than have to make a decision all his own.

Rolling over on his couch, I heard him showering. He has so many needs. I've never met a man with so many needs. He spent 40 minutes splashing around and then another 20 standing in the bathroom talking to himself in the mirror like a bitch. How did I end up with such a pushover. I guess he's easy. He's nice enough – I just wish he would express himself. I wish he would tell me that he's fed up with me. I wish he would lash out, yell at me; tell me that he hates my lifestyle, hates my new red hair, hates my dogs, hates another half-dozen things about me.

If he could tell me these things, then I could justify leaving him. But he can't, and I stay and I await the sound of his annoyed departure. I lay on his couch, pretending to sleep, pretending to be deaf to the stomping and moaning, pretending that I love him.

As I heard him stomping his way down the stairs, I quickly rolled over and pretended to sleep. As he passed, I could feel the glare on my shoulders. His footsteps slowly treaded by my possum repose. The slow clomping of his half-assed heel-toe saunter once again confirmed his inability to confront life. His divergent emotions and desires confound not only his professional endeavors, but all other aspects of his life. Apparently, his impotence extends to his gait as well.

When he finally left for work in the morning I rolled up off the couch, stretched my neck and reached for my phone. I discover that Conrad had left me a message.

I thought I was clear that this was a one time thing, but apparently my message didn't come across. His message was loud and clear, "Meet me this afternoon."