Eighty-One

Kira

Since D'Angelo returned from the trip, I observed how bothered and detached he seemed. He was reticent, his gaze wandered, and always lost in thought; his deeply troubled heart influenced even his sleeping habits.

Sex was amazing, though, and it seemed like our only way of bonding. We did it everywhere: under the sheets, in the bathroom, outside under the stars, in the kitchen, and his car.

But he was drifting away from me, and I had to know why. He gave me a noncommittal shrug the first time I asked about it.

We lay shoulder to shoulder on the plush couch in the living room, our bodies sinking into the cushions. I focused my attention on the

crackling fireplace, watching the dancing flames. D'Angelo's body language spoke volumes: his shoulders hunched forward, showing how tense he was, and his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Something is wrong, D'Angelo. You've been unusually quiet lately. I understand you're worried by this new development, but what is bo