Splinter

‘What do you think?’

‘Hm… I’d call it, well… an acquired taste?’

‘Utterly hideous, more like.’

‘Was it a present?’

‘No, I bought it.’

‘Just a minute. You paid good money for that thing?’

‘Yes.’

‘For a baby-blue, battery-operated dolphin bedside light which you yourself think is ugly?’

‘Hideous.’

‘Okay, so enlighten me. If that’s feminine logic, I don’t get it.’

‘Come here.’

‘I’m almost on top of you as it is.’

‘Come closer all the same.’

‘Don’t tell me you bought it as a sex aid?’

‘Dickhead.’

‘Hey, what’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Promise me…’

‘What?’

‘Promise you’ll always turn the light on?’

‘I… I don’t get it. Scared of the dark suddenly?’

‘No, but…’

‘But what?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking how unbearable it would be if something happened to you. No, wait, don’t pull away, I want to hold you tight.’

‘What is it? Are you crying?’

‘Look, I know it sounds a bit weird, but I’d like us to make a deal.’

‘Okay.’

‘If one of us dies – no, please hear me out – the first of us to go must give the other one a sign.’

‘By turning the light on?’

‘So we know we aren’t alone. So we know we’re thinking of each other even if we can’t see each other.’

‘Baby, I don’t know if-’

‘Ssh. Promise?’

‘Okay.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is that why it’s so ugly?’

‘Hideous.’

‘Right. Good choice from that angle. We’d never turn on that monstrosity by mistake.’

‘So you promise?’

‘Of course, babe.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Still, what’s likely to happen to us?’