No Apology.

He knocks on the door at 2 a.m. with a twelve-pack of Dr. Pepper and an unopened bottle of my favorite vodka. He knew I’d be awake.
“Hey,” I tell him. And, “I’m just doing some homework, and then I’m off to sleep.”
I know there’s no apology in my eyes. I know he won’t miss that.
He peers past the door to see my electric guitar sprawling across the bed like the lover he wants to be, like the glaring red evidence of my lies it is.
I smile, and there’s the apology he was waiting for, I guess.
When I close the door, I make sure the amp is off and I lay back down and I touch her, just like he wanted to,
and I don’t give him a second thought.