Hannah rolled over in bed, her neatly arranged hair scattering messily across the white pillow. Switching hands with her phone she said, "I'm sorry, I forgot."
Her apology was delivered in an airy, detached tone, much like a polite exchange between strangers.
Out of basic courtesy, it came off as aloof and indifferent.
Leaning on the sink, the cold marble paralleled Louis's current feelings. His intentions of confronting Tiffany were forgotten, all his attention focused on Hannah.
He managed a smile, and gazed unblinkingly at his reflection in the mirror, "Sister, could you come to visit me today?"
Hannah replied, "I can't, the show crew doesn't allow us to leave."
That was a lie.
She was clearly shooting an advertisement.
Louis gripped his fists tight, his voice suddenly soft and slow, laced with barely detectable pleading, "Really, you can't?"
"I can't—" Hannah replied without a thought.
