He still had her cardigan. She left it there becuse she barely knew what she was doing. It had taken hours to get home, the once-familiar streets warped and crackling.

Those were the hours, the days and the nights that merged into a kind of carnival. When the drugs wore off real life didn't intrude for too long. There were always more drugs, yet somehow never enough.

He loved words as much as she did. Their words merged to form a river that flowed seamlessly past the everyday. His flat was a citadel beside the river. They were safe there, safe to hide and dream, as drug-addled dreamers do.

Reality took her from the citadel, but he wouldn't leave. She lay in hospital with visits and cards and chocolate from everyone but him.Three days passed before a flood of insincerity via text.It was no longer enough.
She continued to write every day, and looked forward to her book being published. When high in the citadel she had told him of the book. He contributed the idea which completed it:the perfect concept. She duly thanked him in print.

Nearly a year had passed, the danger was over. She danced around the idea of returning to see him. She suggested collecting her cardigan and spending some time together, drinking tea and listening to the radio. What could be more outwardly civilised, far from drugs and  delusion.It was never really about the cardigan, she had plenty of clothes. It was about a neat finish, and the brief indulgence such a finish involved. She could imagine the hour orso she planned to spend there was night turning to day and back to night over endless tea and talk and laughter, as it used to be.

He wasn't neat, or realistic. He messed with her ideal by behaving like the sociopath he insisted he wasn't. He referred by text to the book as 'ours' when querying sales. She felt her response was mild but firm;the dual effort this implied was an overstatement. The river burst its banks, became brackish and ugly. She remained calm as she watched tea and radio time wash away. When she requested the cardigan be returned by post , the river tried to change course. Again, too late.

She saw him in the citadel, a small man waving slowly at her across the waters. His expression was a mixture of confusion and self-righteousness.Not the finish she wanted, but a definite end.