The loss doesn't go away, it just gets bigger the longer you look at it. (Rob Sheffield

Vincent lay on Ricky’s bed and let himself go numb. He was building immunity to the pain. He didn’t sob or even cry, he just let himself lie lifelessly in Ricky’s space.

The Girl, the enemy, entered.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Without reciprocating any of her anger he relayed the question back to her.

“This is where I sleep. That’s what I’m doing here.”

“Why?” Vincent asked calmly.

“Why?” she repeated. “Because it’s where I sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m Ricky’s girl!” she yelled.

“You were.”

“What did you say?”

“You were. Ricky got no girls where he is. Not you, not anyone. The only thing Ricky got is a fulltime job shovelling fire into the furnace of hell. He got nobody and nobody got him.”

Vincent was eerily calm as he spoke.

She cried. She sunk to the floor and cried. “I’m Ricky’s girl,” she sobbed. “I’m his girl.”

Her hair was tangled and black mascara stained her ghostly white face as she struggled from the floor to the bed. On Ricky’s bed she collapsed and cried. Vincent didn’t cry anymore but Vincent wouldn’t be moved.