She came round one afternoon, maybe two weeks since he'd last seen her. She'd come to talk.
He was still in bed at the time, somewhere around half past two. As usual he got out of bed just to be with her.
"Sorry to wake you," she said. "If you want, I'll go."
"No. It's OK. I guess I should be out of bed anyway."
She said he looked a bit down. 'Sometimes,' he thought, 'she could be so naive. It was obvious, wasn't it?'
"What do you think?" he asked her. A good rhetorical question. "Listen, you know exactly what I think about you. And you know how I feel about him. It's just gonna take time to get over it. What d'you expect? You dumped me. It's as simple as that. How do you want me to feel? You want me to carry on as though none of this is happening? No chance. Have you any idea what it feels like? No, not really, eh? Does it really matter to you? It hurts is all I can say. It really fucking hurts."
"I'd better go," she said, and left.

He turned on the TV. Some daily soap-drama. No entertainment value, just easy to watch.