And he can't do anything to allay them, except by lying to her. Which he's not prepared to do.

He watches her walk into the bathroom, and lets out a long breath. Lights another fag, and sprawls back in the bed. A nap is obviously in order. Things will look better after a sleep, probably.

And much as he doesn't want to leave her, he can't deny the tiny flare of excitement that comes when he thinks about going home. This time tomorrow, it says, a guilty voice in the dark. None of this will hurt any more.

He'll never admit it out loud. But it's there, all the same.