a thousand hours

She put her head on his shoulder. Her tears soaked his T-shirt, her sobs shook the bed.
“I hate that things are like this,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. He wasn’t able to cry. He desperately wanted to, but the tears wouldn’t come.
“It’s so unfair. We’ve done nothing to deserve this.” She clutched his arms.
“I know,” he said.
“Why won’t he stop?” She said.
“Because he can’t.” He paused. “Because he won’t.”
They held each other tightly. A small fan did little to move the hot air around the room. In the distance, a train’s whistle sounded.
“I love you,” she said. She meant it. Did he know?
“I love you too,” he said. He meant it. Was it enough?
They lay there, silent, atop the covers, until sleep claimed them both.
In the darkness beyond their walls, the Bogeyman stirred.