Divorce. I'm (Not) Gone for Long

“Eve!” I hear his anxious, excited voice.
“How is it…? He arrived, but no one meets him, there’s no smell of food anywhere, and the lights aren’t on.”
I stay silent and wait for him to find me.
The door opens.
“Eve! What’s happened? What are you doing here?” he approaches me, confused. “I’ve come—”
But he, damn it, can tell something is wrong.
“Hush!” I whisper and gesture with my eyes to my laptop. And there’s a sexual scene in full swing—ohs, ahs, screams, slaps. If I hadn’t watched this movie ten times until it blurred and stopped working on me like sulfuric acid on skin, I would have surely fallen off the chair… but I’m sitting. I can’t talk yet—cramps.
“Where did you—”
The right question, taking the conversation sideways.
“Are you going to ask more questions?” I barely manage to say.