"Boyd," she whispered. Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring vacant at the wall of Ella's romantic paperbacked wall. She hates the wall, but it's a good place to collect her thoughts.
This memory in particular was so far from her typical notions involving Boyd -- in that it was warm and enjoyable -- that Vaughn didn't quite know what to think. It was like trying to fit two different parts of her brain together. Something she would never think, with something she just did.
With a sallow bitterness, Vaughn curled up on the bed. Dismissing this memory because it was useless. It was friendly and optimistic, and who needs that?