“You live here?” She asked, “Isn’t it a little, dark?”

I didn’t get up from my chair to greet her, nor had I planned too. The comfort of speaking to her through a screen had vanished and here she was, standing in my sanctuary, rummaging through my freezer.

“I have a lot of work to do,” I mumbled, “I don’t have time for this.”

I turned towards my desk and pretended to read, hoping she would take the hint that I was not interested in meeting her. I gripped my leg in annoyance as I listened to her fingers gliding along the folders in my bookshelf.

She pushed past me and opened the blinds, allowing the florescent restaurant lights below to bounce into the room. She turned towards me and proceeded to slip off her shoes and climb out the window. “We’re growing up, David,” she cooed, “For one night, let us forget our problems and live like children.”

Then, without hesitation, she jumped.