Leah

He leaned against the balcony rail, a cigratte glowing between his fingers, smoke curling into the night. His eyes never left me.

A moment ago, I had shoved him off me, and without a word, he had slipped out of bed, lit up a cigarette, and stepped outside. Storm had appeared briefly, placing a bottle of whiskey on the small table before vanishing again.

I should've been grateful for the silence, but all it did was replay his words in my head. He didn't come to apologise. All he did was ...