Sarah had to leave the faucets dripping overnight to keep the pipes from freezing. The sound echoed through her empty house, disturbing her sleep. Tink, tink... tink. It reminded her of champagne toasts, the last of which she’d tossed back at her friend Trinity’s wedding. That was six months ago and still, Sarah shuddered at the thought of all that gaudiness. They made rose petals drop from the ceiling during their first dance; fleshy, red globules raining on bride and groom like little, dead babies. How sick, Sarah had told herself. How sick of me to think like that.

But here she was thinking it again, the faucets bleeding a slow stream and Sarah’s mind tangled in memory like legs between bed sheets.

Her last boyfriend Simon had attended the wedding with her. During the reception, they snuck off and shared a joint. After making love in the hotel room, Sarah fell asleep on top of Simon, her chest pressed into his and her knees tucked alongside his ribcage. He held her there like a wrapped package. In the middle of the night Sarah woke from sleep to the sound of her own voice. “Let me in,” she’d whispered. “Let me in.” Her right hand knocked gently on Simon’s chest, fist over his heart. “Let me in.”

She frightened herself in that moment; how she loved so hard she could almost eat him. How he sensed her hunger and stayed hidden. In the end he decided she was too needy, started sleeping with a law school student a week after the breakup.

Of course by that time there was no point in telling him. Those rose petals. The way they made her remember. She hadn’t even brought a friend with her to the doctor’s office. Just sat in the waiting room recalling her toilet bowl miscarriage as the seconds ticked by, time wasted, like so much water down the drain.

Bio: Katey Schultz