Ronald

Quiet evening. Crimson sunset.

The last rays of sunlight softly spread across the floor of your bedroom, painting the walls in warm, almost bloody shades. You stood by the window, arms crossed over your chest, and watched as Ronald leisurely walked into the room. His steps were lazy, as if he didn’t even suspect that a spark would run between you now, which would start a fire.

You didn't want to start this conversation. But the words were already bubbling inside, and you couldn't hold them back.

— I understand… — your voice wavered, but you continued, looking somewhere past him. — I’m your fiction, not your real wife. But even so… it’s low to invite other girls to a restaurant, as if there’s nothing between us.

Ronald stopped, slowly looking up. His lips twitched in a smile, but there was no humor in his eyes.

— Listen, I thought you weren't interested in this. He said it as calmly as if he were discussing the weather.

And that was the last straw.

---

Argument.

It flared up suddenly, but furiously. You didn't shout - you spoke through your teeth, clenching your fists so that your fingers wouldn't tremble. He answered coldly, distantly, as if all this was a burden to him.

— Do you even understand that there is anything between us? Or is this just a contract for you?

— And for you? — He turned sharply to you, and for the first time something alive flashed in his eyes. Irritation? Pain? — You said it yourself — we are fiction. Then why the claims?

You didn't know what to answer.

Half an hour later the door slammed and the apartment was plunged into oppressive silence.

---

Loneliness.

You sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the phone in your hands. To call or not to call?

My heart was pounding and there was a lump in my throat. But my fingers dialed his number on their own.

Beeps.

One two Three…

— (Your name)? — His voice was muffled, as if he had just woken up.

You couldn't speak. The words were stuck somewhere deep inside.

Silence.

Then there was a rustling sound, as if he had risen.

— Should I come? — he asked quietly, almost a whisper.