The rain splattered on the leaves, rolling off them. The ground was saturated, the tree trunks soaked.
Alli lay on the bedspread and stared up at the ceiling. A familiar room. A solution to so many wants.
“I’ve wanted you to come over and watch a movie, for the longest time,” Jan was saying. Her voice seemed to come from far away, from deep underwater – from an ancient, sandy ocean floor.
“Do you ever think you could leave her?” Jan lit a cigarette. Menthol smoke filled the air. Alli breathed it in and glanced at Jan.
“Do you think you could ever love me again?” A voice in the darkness, “You don’t seem to love Ran.”
Alli did not trust herself to speak. Instead, she looked out the window, at the endless lines of water running down the oaks, in the summer night.
She didn’t say anything. She turned around and slowly re-crossed her arms. At this moment in time. At this juncture, at this crossroads, Alli wanted to reserve judgement.
Jan ground out the cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser and turned her full attention back to the TV. A nightingale sang, unperturbed by the downpour.
“No More Tears Left to Cry” – Ariana Grande
“Love on the Brain” – Rihanna
“November Rain” – Guns N’ Roses
“Purple Rain” – Prince
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