I lay on my side, on top of his right arm, and I look at his profile. His eyes are glued to the ceiling and his breathing is slow. I wonder what he's thinking about. Was I too vocal last night? Maybe my tattoo bothered him? Should we have made love with the lights off? God, I didn't brush my teeth last night. Could he have smelled anything odd? Maybe he doesn't want to hear from me anymore. I cannot stand his silence any longer, so I ask directly: What are you thinking about? Nothing, he answered. He was actually thinking of how to tell her to get off him. His whole arm was numb.
(Translated by Ioana Diana Sandu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.