Perhaps love, or the approximation of it that this may or may not have been, would be something resembling a series of thrills. Highs and lows, pulses racing and collapsing; the plummeting sensation of disappointment mixing in with windows of contentment, and then spiking again where it came to anger and desire and, most obviously, sex. There had always been something adversarial about it to him; that love was, or should have been, a battle of some kind.