"You left the faucet running," he said in curt amusement.
"Did I?"
"There's a drought you know," he leaned against a wall, examining the changes of the room.
"Is there? I've only heard of rumors."
I slouched into my chair, staring at his shoes. The numbness of sitting for hours discouraged any movement but the swiveling of my neck and the darting of my eyes. I waited for his shoes to squeak when he strode across the room and sprawled on my bed. Nothing but three taps. He laid with his left arm under his head and looked out the door at the trail of water he created. Irritated, I found myself cursing quietly. If he was going to lie down, he could have at least looked up at the ceiling instead.
"I heard they fired you," he said finally.
"I thought I quit."
"They would accept any resignation but yours." He stuck a cigarette between his teeth and lit it.
"I didn't realize they found me so valuable."
"They loathe you."
I turned myself around to face him, simmering a scorn that I had always been too quickly accustomed to wear. "Do you have to smoke in here?"
He looked at the expression on my face, froze for a moment, then laughed a full and joyous laugh. My scorn returned. His hands held down his stomach as his high time grew thunderous.
"Put the thing out, will you?"
He wiped tears from his eyes. "Since when did you quit?"
"I don't smoke."
"There are cigarette butts all over the floor. In fact, I bet I'll find a pack under this pillow." Just as he waged, he slipped his hand underneath himself and pulled out a box. He bent over the edge of the bed now, joyous again.
I was stricken stiff with contempt.
"Those aren't mine."
"The pack is fucking empty," his laugh began to slow and he tossed the box on the floor next to the butts.
"Is it?"
He sat upright on the edge, straightening himself and relighting his smoke.
"I can't believe they would fire you. God damn." He tossed his pack and lighter to me, both landing by the legs of my chair with a flap and a small thud. His eyebrows quirked. "Shy today, are we?"
I turned back around on my chair and reclaimed my slouch. He smoked on and we settled for silence. I couldn't help but stare again at the trail of wet that he scattered all over the hallway and the room.
"Do you mind cleaning the mess that your shoes made in here? Everywhere is soaked."
He stood up and walked towards the door then turned to face me. "You flooded the bathroom," he smiled, dropping his cigarette on a puddle underneath his shoes. The sizzle of it eased me into my chair so I looked up at him.
"Did I?"
Immediately, his mouth opened and his voice ascended to a sound cavernously melodious. "Strangers in the night... exchanging glances..." He turned around and walked away. "...wond'ring in the night... what were the chances..."
He sang until he was out the door, his voice carrying deep and deadening from outside through my windows. The silence of him cut by an engine, then silence again.
Faithful to my slouch, I should've returned. Instead, I bent down by my feet and picked up the box and the light. I stuck one between my teeth then lit. Momentously, I dragged and walked through the wet, passed the hallway, and into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and shrugged.
As I slowly walked out of the bathroom, striding across the bedroom, and sprawling on the bed, I smoked and stared at the new trails I created, lazily humming the tune.
