You throw your stockings on the carpet and you sneer. “I never wanted love. I wanted the meat of this, of us.” He picks up your stockings and brings them to his heart and stares at you coldly and his fingers are steel and he states in clear language that he is broken. “I am broken”. You do not feel guilt, because people are not broken by others but by themselves, and you think him weak for allowing himself to be broken. “I am leaving now.” His fingers are white. The stockings are brown. He makes a small noise in his throat and takes a step towards you and you tense up and he kisses you on the cheek and you are ice but you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He does not release the stockings and you drop your arms and turn. There is no screen on the window and you jump to the ground and walk along the gravel driveway to your car. You do not regret.