The Writer Tries to Console

You’re going to regret this,” a small voice chimed in my head. I ignored it and sat down next to him.

At first, he didn’t seem to register that there was another human being within communication distance, so I took the plunge and spoke up.

“I know this sounds weird,” I started off, clutching at the blanket Mrs. McCarthy had given me, “especially coming from me – but…you look a little – er – absorbed.”

Raine laughed. Not nicely, though. It was mirthless, and it gave me the creeps.

“You could say that,” he replied, and stole another glance at the fire.

“Would you mind sharing? Uh, I mean, you’ve put up with me quite a lot, so if you feel comfortable – “

Good Lord, woman, you’re jabbering!

I paused for a moment and took the liberty to tell the little voice to stuff it, and then tuned into my surroundings again.

Raine smiled, and I was glad to see that it was a good natured expression.

“Thanks for the offer, tomato head.”

I gasped at the insult. “I’m NOT a tomato head!”

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