“I know!” he exclaimed. “Because in the far future, they’re all bird—”

“Why are you still here, Llewellyn?” It came out harsh, and she meant it that way, even though she already knew she would regret it when she replayed the afternoon over in her head. Was already regretting it.

“Uh,” he said. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Obviously?” She closed her eyes, blocking him from view as he scrambled up and began rummaging around her messy bedroom for his clothes. Even without seeing him, the noise of him was goading her anger.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know. I’ll get out of your hair.” His quiet acceptance of the rage he hadn’t earned only made her angrier. If he leaves, she thought, if I don’t see him again, I’ll never get this anger out of my chest. She tried to subdue the thought but it wouldn’t subside. Either I unload it now, before he leaves, or never.

“And don’t forget to pay,” she said, crushing her molars against each other.

“Pay what?” he asked.

“Pay me,” she said, cutting her eyes at him. “For this.” She gestured with her half-burnt-down cigarette at her naked body, the rumpled bedclothes, everything.

“Oh,” his face fell. “You’re a—I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“Well?” she said.

“I don’t have any money on me, I—”

“What, you want to return it? Cancel your order?”

“I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have—”

“Well, you did,” she said, looking away from him and back up at the ceiling. “Anyway I have Venmo.” 

“Right,” he said, walking toward her bedroom door as he tapped at his phone screen. “How much?”

“Whatever,” she said. He left.

It only made her feel worse, in the end, as usual. Everything only made her feel worse. Later, checking her account, she saw he’d transferred forty bucks. The memo field read, “listening about my novel.” 

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