She sits atop a stairwell in a semi-darkened room. Upon closer inspection, I notice that half of her face is gone and there is a look of anger on her face.
He is facedown on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Her pain-filled gaze falls upon me. I do not feel comfortable in this room. The stench of resentment hangs heavily in the air.
Her lips are slowly moving and I can barely make out the words.
"He never really loved me. I was always just a whistle stop. A place to gather up strength until he could move onto the next woman."
I look down at his prone form and jump back in surprise after his hand grasps my left ankle. I stumble a bit but, manage to escape into another room.
Neither one of them bother chasing me. They are too focused on the resentment hanging between them.