The moment the door clicked shut behind him, silence took over like fog seeping through the seams of her life.
Regina didn't move.
Not for minutes.
Not even to cover herself properly. The sheet still clung to her hip, one leg bare and sprawled, hair disheveled, chest slowly rising and falling. She stared at the ceiling, numb not from lack of feeling, but from too much. Her body was too full, too warm, too sore, too aware of every part of her that had touched him, and now missed him.
He was gone.
Again.
And she had let it happen, hadn't stopped him, hadn't said a word as he'd gotten dressed without looking her in the eye.
The shirt she'd tugged on still smelled like him.
She hated that.
She hated him.
Except she didn't. Not really. And that was the problem.
