She's standing by the door. Little black dress. High heels. Too much perfume. Her friends are waiting in the car — you can hear them honking.
— It's just a party. A few drinks. Some stupid games. I'll be home by midnight.
You don't like her friends. They're trashy. They've made comments about you. About your job. About «tying her down».
But you love her. So you smile.
— Have fun.
She kisses you. Quick.
— I love you.
The door closes.
You're alone. The car drives away. The party is somewhere in the city.
Your phone is in your hand. You're waiting for a text. Any text.
Nothing yet.