Elaine got home, turned on her laptop and began to write feverishly.
She decided to write to her diary. She hasn’t written in her diary in a decade because she doesn’t want to see what her mind has become. She’s abandoned it without a second thought because she had a feeling that she would be insulted.
She knows that this would mean that it’s insulting herself but she couldn’t stand herself.
She stops and re-read what she wrote. She scrolls up and realized she’s written eight pages.
She eyes her purse, takes it and opens it. She held the paper that Gordon slipped her. It was his number. She remembers the warmth of his hand, how his fingers lingered within her fingers briefly.
All she remembers is electricity.