Interject

I anticipate an all too familiar onslaught of tears as she begins to divulge the details of their sordid affair. I brace myself, so as not to involuntarily indulge my emotions. Irregular gusts of air whistle through the window, allowing us to breathe through the humidity of the early-August day. We do not move from our respective positions in the kitchen, as her voice, trembling to start with, regales me with tales of their late night rendezvous. She stares coldly at the window behind me, the glazed-over expression on her face prompts me to deduce that she isn't looking at anything in particular. 
    "I know I told you I wasn't going to speak to him - I ignored all his calls, texts and emails... But that first night I spent at home after staying here... I was so lonely. And he said she didn't mean anything - that I was the most incredible person he's ever met... she was nothing compared to me. He told me everything - that she was cheap. Gagging for it -"
   "Did he tell you who she was?" I interject, voice thick after that sharp stab of information.
    "No. But it doesn't matter - she was nobody. I don't care about her. All he wants is me."
     "So if you found out, you wouldn't care?"
Her face contorts, bemused. Her eyes adopt the look of a boasting child when recieved with the wrong reception from their audience. She utters an incoherent sound, a questioning expression on her face.
     "I know who she was," I state matter-of-factly.