Violet's broad frame occupied the whole extension of the battered up armchair at the corner of the room, and despite the state of the seat, she seemed to be relaxed while sitting there, shirtless, and nursing a glass of vodka and sprite.

The hotel room was lit so dimly you could barely make out her face in the dark, the big light barely worked, and both of you preferred not dealing with the annoying flickering and eletrical buzzing sound.

The bed was messy, the sheets rumpled, the ceiling and part of the walls had mold all over them, yet you still enjoyed the stay every time. Being there, with her, doing what you did, seemed like experiencing a few hours in heaven — if heaven was a cheap motel with the weirdest name you could find.

You wish you could understand what her eyes were telling you, but in the dark, you could only guess that she was looking in your direction. You wish you had the courage to step close to her, or to call her over, to tell her you'd missed her, that you wanted her to touch you, as if it wasn't obvious. You just wanted her to ground you, to help you breathe again.

"Something on my face?"

The sound of her voice made your skin tingle, and your breath hitch, it was always so smooth and pleasant. Sometimes, you wished she would be less quiet around you, just so you could hear it more and more.