He firsts opens his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering, those beautiful emerald irises adjusting to the light. I can feel him move, turning over, pulling the sheet over his head to block the light, but it’s too late; he’s been roused. I hear the coffee maker turn on in the room next door, preparing itself for another day. We lay there in silence as the birds outside sing to us. He wraps his arms around me, almost protectively, like a mother would her child. I breathe him in, the smell of cologne and sweat mixing together to create a scent that’s uniquely him. Finally, he speaks. “We’re broken, aren’t we, you and I?” I nod a little, swallowing. The sheets are warm from our body heat and I don’t want to move because I’m so comfortable and at peace, but he’s stirring up emotions again. “But our pasts don’t make us who we are…they just help shape us into becoming who we’re supposed to be,” I respond, not wanting to have this conversation once again. “How can I forget what changed me?” He asks, not expecting an answer, and I give him none but instead watch his chest rise and fall with each breath. “The accident wasn’t your fault,” I say for the millionth time, snuggling a little closer to him for warmth. He gets angry, like expected. “God, damnit, Alex! Yes, it was.” He throws off the covers, exposing me to cold air, and I huddle beneath the blankets, scared. “You promised you’d forget about it and move on,” I remind him softly, but he’s clenching his fists, unmovable.