That night. She’s punching their shared wall. He hears her. Dull thuds. Walls are difficult to punch.
“Cal,” Silas says. “Cal.”
“Stupid. So stupid,” she says. She uses punches as punctuation marks.
“What,” he says.
“Felt so. Helpless.” Punch, punch. Punch.
“Well…” he says. Resigned. That’s the way it is. She stops.
“He couldn’t even say it.” Her eyes are green. “He couldn’t say it was over.” She punches the wall. Guard up. Jab. She punches in pattern: 1-1-2, pause, 1-1-2.
He holds her wrists. To stop her.
“Stupid,” she says.
“Stupid,” he agrees.
Nihilistic Porcupine 