It was quiet in the room. It was a haunting silence and she could not bear it. “Would you look at me?” she asked. He didn’t answer, nor did his lovely eyes gaze at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, once again, talking alone. Her words floated out from her lush, red lips into the dead, cold, silence. “Fine,” she said, getting up, grabbing her black dress which he had recently tossed onto the floor. Did she do something wrong? Was he mad? Was this, itself, wrong? She slipped into her dress, storming out the door of his apartment, leaving him alone and mute. “What the hell was his problem?” she asked herself. Kacey walked up the stairs to her apartment. She sighed, opening the door, walking in, sitting down on her couch. She started to open the button of her black trench coat, throwing off her painful, high pumps. She stripped off her coat and dress, taking a comfy pair of pajamas, thinking about what she and Wes had done wrong. They loved each other. Was there anything wrong with that? Was there some hidden truth?