He might easily have been concerned about his approaching me like this. He might easily have seen me as his master’s … god, I looked into Blackie�...�s eyes, in his way of reference, he would see me as his master’s bitch. Jeez, was this really going to happen? I wasn’t Mitch’s bitch … no, he didn’t think of me that way. The other men, sure, but not Mitch. But Blackie, yeah, Blackie would think of me that way. My mind was spinning, my equilibrium was off. I thought I was understanding my place with. The sweet melody of her words, familiar and solid, a symphony to his ears, every note and tone, every word and syllable precious and meaningful and sweet, a beacon of light and life in the mundane miasma of gray nothingness he’d been banished to in his own head. Her words and her scent mingled, twining, coalescing into something real that he could hold to. It was her, his love, and she was there in that place with him. The texture of her kindness. The scent of her love. The flavor of her fire. More

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