I was sitting on the couch watching TV when there was an unexpected knock at the door. I paused the movie I was watching and made my way to the front door. “I wonder who it could be,” I said to myself as I bent down to look out the peephole. To my surprise, it was Elise, my ex-roommate’s girlfriend.

“Hey Jonah, I’m sorry to stop by like this.”

I stepped back from the door and paused for a moment. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a reason for her to be outside my house. We hadn’t been particularly close when Matt and I lived together, kind of just existing on the edges of each other’s lives through him. But I decided to open the door anyway.

“Come on in. You want something to drink?” I heard her close the door behind herself then, softly reply, “No thank you.” I went back into the living room and slumped back into my spot on the couch. She shortly followed and sat down right beside me.

“We missed you at the funeral.” My heart sank to my feet as I took a good look at her. She was dressed in a modest black dress with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Matt’s funeral was today and I had completely forgotten about it. Even though it had been a few months since he moved out, the two of us remained close. I stumbled over the words of my apology before she finally told me it was okay.

“I figured you probably weren’t gonna come, but I thought I’d stop by and check on you anyway.” She briefly gave me a run down of what happened at the funeral. She said the entire scene felt a bit suffocating – too many people, too many condolences that felt rehearsed, too much silence that would’ve drove Matt insane.

When she was done, we sat in awkward silence for what seemed like forever as we each tried to decide how to navigate the uneasy tension that had fallen on the room like a wet blanket. Eventually, I convinced myself to go into the kitchen and fix myself a drink. To my surprise, she was right on my heels.

“Great minds think alike, huh?” I nervously joked as I poured some vodka into a glass. We both let out a small chuckle that seemed to let some of the air out of the room. We went back into the living room and talked for a while. As she talked, I could tell that it was weighing on her. With the deft precision of a blunt instrument, I tried to change the subject to something a little less emotionally draining. Instantly, she was mass of sobbing humanity in my arms. I squeezed her tightly and did my best to console her through what was obvious an inconsolable moment.

“I’m so sorry to come over here and dump on you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” The stream of tears running down her cheeks was reminiscent of the Mississippi River. I didn’t say anything, I just hugged her tighter as my eyes began to spring a leak.

After what felt like eons, we released our hold on each other. But something else seemed to be drawing us closer to one another. I wildly shook my head, as if trying to free myself from a hypnotic trance. “Another drink?” She forced a smile for my sake and eagerly nodded as she handed me her glass. I decided to grab the bottle and return to the living room.

We drank in silence at first. Then came the stories – small fragmented pieces of Matt that we were clinging on to. We laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that cracked at the edges. But the third drink, Elise had stopped laughing. By the fourth, she looked at me with something unreadable in her expression and said, “I don’t want to go home.” And I knew what she meant, even if neither of us said it out loud.

We got up from our seats on the couch and slowly made our way towards my bedroom. Not because we were drunk, but because of the unspoken hesitation that I felt between us. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was too much vodka playing tricks on me.

When we reached the door to my bedroom, it was like something snapped. Elise reached out for me, fingers clenching at the waistband of my sweatpants, pulling me into a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. It wasn’t soft nor sweet. It felt like her grief had turned into something tangible – something she could sink into, drown in. I quickly lifted her up, my hands gripping her thighs as I kissed her harder than she had kissed me, like I was trying to erase the taste of vodka and sorrow from both of our mouths. She hooked her legs around my waist, pulling me closer to her. We fell back on the bed while Elise’s fingers fumbled with my drawstring, tugging at it impatiently before dragging her nails across my back. It hurt, but maybe that was the point.

In an instant, our clothes were a mess on the floor, and the only sounds between us were sharp breaths and the rustle of bedsheets. I unsteadily traced my lips down her neck, over her collarbone, leaving a trail of gentle kisses that would have almost been reverent if it weren’t for the vice grip I hap on her hips. Elise pulled me closer, her body arching into mine as if she needed more of something, anything. Every touch, every kiss, every movement between us felt like a plea – don’t stop, don’t think, don’t feel anything but this.

We moved together with the kind of desperation that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with forgetting. Everything about it was rough, feverish, our bodies colliding with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. Hands roamed freely, nails left marks, teeth grazed over skin – small, fleeting reminders that we were still alive, that we could still feel something, anything, even if it was only for the night.

Afterward, we laid together, our bodies slick with sweat, the air think with something neither of us wanted to name, let alone acknowledge. Elise laid on her back and traced a path across my chest while absently staring at the ceiling overhead. I laid beside her, my arm draped above my head and stared blankly at the TV mounted on the wall in front of me. The room smelled like a mixture of vodka, sex, and sweat. But the air between us had shifted, thickening with the weight of what we had just done. I could still feel the ghost of her skin on mine, taste her lips on mine, but the comfort our actions had given us both was already fading. There was nothing left now but the cold, creeping realization that it wasn’t going to make either of us feel any better.

“This was a mistake,” she whispered. I let out deep sigh, relieved that she said what was bouncing around in my vodka soaked mind. “Yeah.” But neither of us moved. The silence stretched out between us. But unlike before, there was a weight to it, much heavier than before, almost to the point of suffocating. Eventually, we lost our individual battles with sleep.

By morning, the feeling of regret was unbearable. It almost felt like Matt was standing in the corner, casting judgement on us. I woke up first, but pretended to be sleep so I wouldn’t disturb her. When she woke up, her hand immediately covered her face, I can only imagine that she was replaying the previous night’s events over in her head. She slipped out from under the covers in what I suppose was an attempt to not disturb me. Then she quickly got dressed and bolted for the door, never looking back to see that I was watching her the whole time. Maybe I should’ve tried to stop her, or at least said something. But what exactly? The only reason I didn’t do the same thing was because we were at my house. Once I heard my front door close, I quickly got in the shower and tried to scrub away the guilt and regret.

And just like that, we became strangers again.