Now Carol is in the toilet. She is running the taps and maybe standing there looking at herself in the mirror. She is adjusting her hair and looking at the redness of her eyes. She is hating me. I think of her knee in there. It is now back underneath her skirt. It is feeling confused. Like a scolded child.
I don’t understand, she says, standing in the bathroom doorway. The toilet is flushing behind her.
Carol doesn't understand that she is not my girlfriend anymore.