I wake to the smell of burning hair. To an acute pain stabbing through my thigh.

I shoot up in bed. Bend forward and grab my leg. A small pile of ash sticks to the site of the sting. Of the pang that startled me to life.

I sit baffled for a second, disoriented and confused.

What is going on?

Then clarity washes over me.

Of course, of course.

A cigarette hangs between Her index and middle finger. Smoke slowly rising from the glow.

Yes, of course.

I wipe the ash from my thigh. A bald, red patch of skin resides underneath. I stare at it before removing the cigarette from Her fingers, taking a drag or two, then extinguishing it in the coffee cup next to the bed.

I debate waking Her, telling Her what She's done, but Her closed eye lids flutter and lips tremble in the most subtle manner. So, instead I kiss Her forehead

Then I go back to sleep.