Tracy lies in the bathtub, staring blankly at the wall. She doesn’t know how long she’s been here, but it’s been long enough that the water has grown tepid, her hair beginning to dry. A draft raises goosebumps on her pale skin, and hardens her nipples. She lies in the tub, unmoving, barely breathing, semi-catatonic.

   She blinks, looks at the edge of the tub, at the pink razor. She picks it up, leans over and, from her foot, draws it up the length of her bare leg. Though both legs are entirely hairless, she continues shaving. Pointless. Just like everything else.

   A memory:

   The first time she tried cooking dinner for the two of them. She had grown up without a mother and, as such, missed out on many of life’s more domestic lessons. She’d invited Gerald to her apartment and chose something simple to prepare. Spaghetti. Boil the noodles, warm up the sauce, brown some garlic bread . . . impossible to fuck up, right? Maybe for someone else. Anyone else.

   Gerald had arrived a few minutes early. He sat on the couch, asking if he could help. She told him no, sit, relax, everything will be ready in a minute. Everything had gone fine, until the smoke alarm went off. She had no idea what was wrong and everything faded like anytime something went wrong. One second, she was stirring sauce and heard the alarm’s shriek, the next Gerald was pulling burnt bread from the oven and opening a window. She had collapsed to the floor, sobbing. She couldn’t do anything right. Gerald sank to the floor with her, embracing her and doing what he could to soothe her. She bordered on hysterical and simultaneously wished he’d run out the door and never return, but also that he’d squeeze her tighter and never let go.

   She loves Gerald, and she knows he loves her. In the beginning, that had been enough. But anymore, she’s not so sure. In the beginning, she had been happy sometimes. She tries now, for Gerald’s sake, but it hasn’t been real for . . . she doesn’t know. Can’t remember. It doesn’t matter anyway. She knows she won’t be able to fake it much longer.