"You know you can be really difficult sometimes, Leslie."
 
Enemies
Sometimes he just likes to antagonise me because he finds it amusing. "You look like shit, today," he'll say, or "I can do better."
 
Sometimes there are other reasons.
 
"I don't like your take on the character," is a common one.
 
"What didn't you like about it?" I ask.
 
"She's too skittish. She's too nervous. And you're making her seem asexual," is the response.
 
"She's skittish because she's going insane."
 
"Is that why you're skittish?"
 
"You're an asshole. And she doesn't seem asexual."
 
"Yes, she does. Could be because you are, though."
 
"I believe 'go to hell' is redundant at this point so I want bother saying it."
 
"Of course, hell is wherever you are. Why is she so nervous when you're acting her?"
 
"She thinks they're going to find out about her."
 
"Do you think they're going to find out about you?"
 
Pause. I raise my eyes to meet his and smile through anger.
 
"No," I respond.
 
A step closer, the breathing spaces overlap.
 
Continue, "But they'll probably learn all about you."
 
Conversation over.
 
Friends
I look at my lips closely in the mirror as I colour them in. The red lipstick stays within the lines, bright and gluggy like crayon scribblings.
 
From beside me he asks, "Can I borrow your eyeliner?"
 
"Sure," I reply.
 
I smile and search through the pockets of my make-up bag. He takes the pencil from me and outlines his eyes, concentrating on the lines so hard it's almost comical. I sigh.
 
"Why do you look so much better in eyeliner than me?"
 
"You're not wearing enough," he replies.
 
"Here," he says, turning me to face him. "I'll fix it for you."
 
As he does so the call comes, "Hurry up. We start in five minutes."
 
He tosses the pencil back in my bag and runs to talk to the stage manager.
 
I look in the mirror. My eyes look alive.
 
Lovers
His lips on my lips. His hands on my skin. His breath in my mouth. Between us the air tastes like blood.
 
"I hate you," he sometimes whispers, and I understand.
 
"I love you," he says, and I push him away.
 
Strangers
Sometimes we do not talk at all for days. He tries to avoid eye contact for as long as possible.
 
"You know, if you two had kids they'd have really blue eyes," Sarah says, and he has to check to make sure.
 
Later he tells me, "Sometimes I don't think I know you at all."
 
"You don't," I reply.
 
"You know you can be really difficult sometimes, Leslie," he hisses.
 
"We're made for each other, then."
 
I can tell by his face that we both hope not.