Unwanted Self

Rifle knew about the other man in his bed. That was the problem. Earlier that day, while eating cake in the break room, he wondered who he would find when he stumbled into his dark room late that night. He wondered while Nancy stood in front of him, bellowing garbage—all he could think of was getting into bed and finding his sheets already warm. So now, in the almost dark, he rolled over, shifted his legs to the far edge of the bed, and let the clock wash his face in a thick red. The minutes slowly added up. He needed to get help—he came to that conclusion five days ago. The only question now was where to go for it. This is complicated, he thought.