I glance at the bathroom. The door is wide open. I can hear the water running in the shower. The sheet has fallen to the floor and I lay on the bare bed. It’s stained and worn. I see something that looks like blood and wonder who else has laid on this bare bed with the sheet fallen to the floor. It smells musty. A bit old, maybe almost rotten, yet somehow I like the smell. It smells familiar and comfortable, yet I’ve never been here. I look back into the bathroom. The mirror is foggy from the steam and drips onto the counter. There’s a glass jar. I notice a toothbrush. It’s frailed with green grips, but there’s another. This one seems fresh. The grips are pink. Pink. Would he have a second toothbrush for himself that is pink? Or have I done it again? Laid and somehow betrayed. I shuttered at the thought. It feels like just yesterday I faced a girl with a broken heart. Who wanted to blame me, to hate me, and maybe she did, but more she hated herself for loving him. I can’t do this again. I can’t face this other toothbrush. I grab my clothes. I rush out unexplained.