Unseen

There is something twistedly poetic about the sight of a person knelt down in front of the toilet bowl, a person that nobody holds hair to. It’s 4 am. Rebecca is alone in a bathroom in the middle of Prague. Someone next door is playing the trumpet.
"Do you think she'll be alright?" Shia whispers, staring into the shadows of their room.
The other silhouette shifts on the bed as she speaks.
"She was alright enough to tell me to turn away and leave her alone."
"Maybe it's better like this. I don't know what would've happened if we'd continued."