“… given that I am the planet’s most affectionate life-form – something like a cross between a golden retriever and a barnacle”
Because a (rational, sane) part of you hates lying in bed across from him, losing yourself in the look of him with that (damned, despicable) desperate affection, when he knows it not.
Why, then, must you torture yourself with photos of him and her, together, and happily so?
I would never begrudge him happiness, you begin defensively.
Then why torture yourself? Masochistic idiot, she adds. Well?
Well then, she says with a not unkind finality. Go to bed, love.
And for once you heed the voice of reason.