Chapter 18

As soon as the words are out, the room begins to fade around you, the walls grow indistinct, and you can see his bedroom beneath them, the steady rush of rain still coming down outside. It’s always raining here anymore. Sitting up, you shake him off. Now you see his bed peeking through the cushions of the loveseat, and the lamp shining on the bedside table where the fireplace should be. The scene’s changing like it’s supposed to but you’re not the one making it happen. You’re not the one in control. “This isn’t happening—”

“Why not?” he wants to know.

You climb out of bed, suddenly angry—at the unit for fucking with the program, at Vito for promising to fix it, at yourself for falling into this post-coital glow that isn’t real and can never bereal. You should know that by now. Hell, at this point you’re even angry at him, though he’s done nothing wrong.

“Talk to me,” he pleads. “What’s not happening? What—”