EIGHTY-SIX

Cyrus blocked flashes of the night before as he stared at the door, leaning off its’ hinges. He propped it up and noted where the screws had come loose. He went to the supply closet.

He came back with a hammer and nails, and Betsy was waiting outside the door. She explained her feelings as he hammered the hinges into place — her claim that it was just a kiss, that the other, nameless man meant nothing.

Cyrus finished hammering and slammed the door in her face.

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