26

Allison

After that night, we fall into a comfortable rhythm.

Gregory's almost never home. There's always a guard on the front door and another lurking in a car out front, but they rarely speak to me. When I go for a run, the car's following as close as it can. I stick to main streets where it's easier for them to keep close tabs.

Orin's always in the house. He's busy, constantly running errands for Gregory, but available whenever I need something. Which isn't very often—as it turns out, being Gregory's wife in the middle of a war for the marijuana trade on the West Coast is actually kind of boring.

I sleep in most mornings. I don't even notice Gregory getting into bed at night, and he sneaks out before I'm up. We run into each other like strangers passing in a darkened alley, wary and uncertain. The memory of that sex still lingers, lighting me up whenever I need something to think about in the loneliness of having nothing to do and nowhere to go, but the intimacy we felt fades away.