Last straw, can’t sleep. Can’t tell if it’s voices or fists shaking the walls.

Roll over, shed doona, plant feet on floor, stand up clutching head. Growl, groan, make some kind of noise, confirm it’s not a dream.

Not dressed, don’t care, through the door. They don’t notice until I speak up. Voice my opinion; they’re both wrong. Both stupid. Both tearing strips off one another. Can’t understand what they think they’re gaining.

He stares at me. She crumples and weeps. He just stares. His eyebrows knit together and he takes a step.

Turn, retreat, ignore him. Hear his footfalls, slam the door, a thud against it.

Fall onto the mattress and listen to him doing the retreating. Recoiling from one fight to an easier one.

Eyes closed, know what goes on. He sits, comforts, barely even trying. Doesn’t work. Resorts to what he can do. Another thud. More sobs, but he’s gone.

At least I can sleep.