She lay there afterward, trying to make herself completely still, neglecting the idea that motion was needed for breathing. Instead, she began to take in silence and exhale stillness.

Her eyes became fixed on the alarm clock resting on his nightstand, perched above the books and trophies. The ribbons nestled among the shelves signified swimming successes, academic achievements, and whatever else he had accomplished in his 17 years.

She noticed that the blue light from the alarm clock filled the whole room, dyeing the sheets with a sinister glow. She watched the minutes tick by. The digital numbers looked bold and proud. Those numbers were so positive that they were in the only place in the world they were needed, knowing that they were nothing less and nothing more than they needed to be.

Unconsciously she rustled the sheets with her toes, briefly feeling the coolness of the cotton on her flesh. She ­exhaled and pulled her leg away from his tan calf, refusing to consider the gravity of what they had just done. Instead she remained transfixed by the numbers, by the proud, solid numbers.

Throwing caution to the wind, she turned over onto her back. He remained still, making her believe, if only for a second, that maybe she didn't exist at all.

Letting her eyes roam over the walls, she wondered what he was thinking on the other side of the bed – the other side that already felt worlds away. Maybe he had enough mental stability at the moment to grasp what they had done. It was easier to put herself in his shoes than her own. At some point beforehand, she had taken off her point of view and thrown it clear across the room, tossing it among the other discarded remnants of the evening.

She clamped her eyes shut and made a futile attempt to shut out his breathing. It sounded so loud, like the roaring of some monster that she had always expected to find just outside her bedroom door.

As another minute flickered by, the blue haze informed her that it was time to be on her way. She slumped out of the bed, not bothering to cover up. Everything was out there already, and she didn't intend to put on a facade like it wasn't.

The rustling of her jeans back into place, back to where they should've stayed, roused him. They exchanged smiles, faint but genuine. Except for the shifting of T-shirts back into their position, and the smoothing of hair back to normalcy, there were no sounds. No clever jokes. No silly quips.

Nothing was safe there, not anymore. They knew tomorrow would bring a different kind of existence. Tomorrow she would have to redefine what normal should be. No, no words were needed. Not now. Not ever, really. They already knew everything that they needed to.