When she paces back inside, we hear the slam of the door, the squeaking of the bed, their harsh voices back and forth and she's out again and he's out and they're fighting and she's on the balcony saying, "Don't drive, you can't drive like this, you're drunk." He's unintelligible.
"You get her, I'll get him," I'm saying, and The Veil lifts and retrieves while I put on pants and I'm out the door. Two in the morning, I'm wearing a tank top and socks, chasing after my friend's fianc�. "Don't drive like this," I tell him. "I'm going for a walk," is all he says, and I walk with him. He stops at the end. "It's fucking cold out here. Get a jacket." "Some things are more important than that.
We walk. His feelings are understandable. I talk him down and we walk back, to the love of his life and my Veil. They disappear into their bedroom and mine turns to me and says, "What's going on?"
"Do you think we should make sure they don't leave again?" This is how I slept in front of a door at three in the morning. Curled into me, listening to them argue, he says, "I'm surprised you told me to go with her, given our history." They fucked. He was in love with her. He probably still is, a little bit.
"I'm a leader," I say. "Despite my feelings about the situation, your situation, you've known her longer and more intimately than I have and you know how to handle her. I can relate to him. I know what it is to watch someone you love, love everyone except you."
I fall asleep to arguments, their arguments, my friends, and feel like I'm listening to my parents again. "I'm eight years old," I say, "and I'm sitting on a couch when my father says, 'Sorry for hitting your mother.'"
"Then why aren't you apologizing to her?" I say.