He led me into the living room, where he pulled the cushions off his sofa and opened it up to reveal a hide-a-bed. He helped me lie down on my belly, and arranged pillows around me and under my head, so that I was facing the TV.
“I got you movies,” he said, and held up a stack of DVD rental boxes from Martian Signal. “We got Pretty in Pink, The Blues Brothers, The Princess Bride, a Robin Williams stand-up tape and a really funny-looking porno called Edward Penishands.”
I had to smile in spite of myself, in spite of the pain. He stepped into his kitchenette and came back with a box of chocolates. “Truffles,” he said. “So you can laze on the sofa, eating bonbons.”
I smiled more widely then.
“Such a beautiful smile,” he said. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“No,” I said, choking it out past my raw-from-screaming throat.
“All right,” he said. “Which video do you want to watch?”
“Princess Bride,” I said. I hadn’t heard of any of them, but I didn’t want to admit it.
“You don’t want to start with Edward Penishands?”