After this bout of passion, Cynthia felt no pleasure at all. Apart from the burning pain in her lower body, there was only an endless ache in her heart and the tear that slid down the corner of her eye.
Once all the panting had settled, he got up, put on his pants, and sat on the edge of the bed to smoke. She lay there with her back to him, curled up, and neither of them spoke. The small space was soon filled with the heavy scent of smoke.
After a long while, Cynthia finally parted her lips, her voice hoarse as she spoke,
"Albert, let me go. Please, let me go..."
The shifting temperatures, the changing distances, the endless cycles—it tormented her fragile heart. She had always been unwilling to part, but now, she had no strength left to bear it.
Albert took several deep drags from his cigarette, then threw the butt on the floor and stamped it out. He stood up, coldly looking down at her, who was shrinking in place, and spoke each word slowly:
