He stared at her.
They sat at the edge of his bed exchanging silent smiles, neither
one moving. Eventually, she inched toward him. She wrapped her
legs around his waist. The warmth of his body felt like static to her
cold skin.
He ran his fingers through strands of her damp hair. The sweet scent
of milk and roses from her shower lingered in the space between them.
He hesitated for a brief moment. "I love you," he murmured. His
voice was soft, but firm.
It wasn't that she did not hear him. She did. With his words
suspended in air, she turned away. When she turned back to look at
him, her expression had changed. The corners of her mouth
reluctantly curled upward into a sad smile.
"No, I'm afraid you do not."
"Yes, I do."
She leaned over and whispered into his ear, "But it's not love." With
that, she unwound herself from him. He held onto her.
"How can you say that with such certainty?"
"Because I am certain."
"How?"
"Because all of this"--she motioned at him, at her, at their surroundings--
"is only pretend."
---
Originally written in 2012
Published in 2014