There it was.
The couch.
Lumpy, brown. An ordinary sofa.
Where she had just so happened to lose her virginity.
This is ridiculous, Tania thought. It’s like something from that frickin’ Juno movie.
She stepped carefully toward it, as if she was afraid it would suddenly come alive and bite her, or would form a mouth and taunt her about her stupidness.
She knew she had been stupid, and she didn’t need the friggin’ couch to tell her that.
Couches can’t talk. And it doesn’t have eyes, she reminded herself. It’s not like it’s going to rat me out, or anything. It was just a simple, innocent observer of what happened last night between Frank and me. There is no way my parents will ever find out.
Even though the couch didn’t, indeed, have eyes, it seemed to stare at her condemningly, accusing her of her crime. The square pillows looked through her soul, and she started to wimper.
I KNEW what I was doing at the time.
The sofa kept staring.
God, this sucks. We better get new furniture soon.