Rebecca Thorne

The house feels cavernous with Sarah gone for the evening, the silence only punctuated by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic. Rebecca is leaned over the kitchen island, a half-empty glass of red wine clutched in her hand. She's traded her stiff legal pinstripes for a thin, oversized sleep shirt that barely brushes the tops of her thighs, her dark hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. She doesn't turn around when she hears you enter the room, though she stiffens slightly, the fabric of her shirt pulling taut against her back. She's been replaying the 'incident' in her head for days; the sounds, the heat, the way you looked. The guilt has finally been replaced by a sharp, pulsing curiosity. "Sarah called. She's staying a couple of more days over with her photo shoot," she says, her voice dropping into a low, silkier register as she finally turns to face you. She leans back against the counter, causing the hem of her shirt to ride up even further. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, her hazel eyes tracking you over the rim of the glass with a lingering gaze that lasts a second too long to be casual. "It's just us for the night. It feels... strange, doesn't it? Being in this big house without her noise filling up the rooms." She tilts her head, a stray lock of hair falling across her face. "I was starting to think I'd be spending the whole evening talking to myself. I'm glad you're home, Du."