Love

She swallowed against a lump in her throat and flexed her fingers to try to stop their trembling. Holding her hands up to the light she examined the nails one by one, trying to care about the ridges and chips in the varnish, allowing the menial task to distract her from what was impending.
The voices from downstairs floated towards her and she shook her hair loose, trying to muffle the cold words.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The atmosphere felt wrong; as though her breath would crystallise if she dared exhale.

Someone tapped on the door.

“Are you nearly ready?”

She spun around, shocked, her heart pounding.

“Nearly,” she replied lowly, feeling the adrenaline chase through her veins, chilling her with the absolute clarity of what was going on.

Strong steps fell behind her and she felt a pair of warm hands land on her shoulders. Resisting the urge to flinch, she allowed herself to be turned towards the stained mirror.

“Look,” he said gently, the warmth from his hands seeping through her skin. His fingers tangled through her long hair and massaged her scalp gently. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and allowed her shoulders to relax.

Suddenly her head was wrenched hard sideways and she gasped from the pain and shock, her eyes instinctively averting themselves before she could catch sight of her reflection in the glass.

“Fucking look!” he snarled savagely, and out of sheer terror she raised her eyes, fighting back the tears. For a moment she tried to focus on his hard face, but it hurt so much that her eyes slid down and rested on her pitiful face.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, “please don’t.”

He didn’t reply, just released her hair and ran a long finger down her face and despite herself she followed it in the mirror, tracing the line from her drawn-on eyebrows down to her cheekbone. His thumbs tenderly covered the hollows beneath her kohl eyes and he cupped the curve of her cheek with his palm; despite herself she let her glossy lips curve into something resembling a smile and leaned into his touch.

They stayed motionless in that tableau for moments, until the sound of footsteps on the stairs drew them apart. She stood shakily, pulling the dressing gown around her as though it were some form of armour, and padded towards the door, squaring her shoulders as she did so.

“Hey.”

She turned and he moved closer, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“Love you too,” she replied, and left, the door clicking behind her quietly.

He sank down into her chair and rested his chin in his hands. The mirror seemed to taunt him, and even through the door he could hear the rustle of the robe hitting the floor, and even through his eyelids he could see the silk pooling on the floor and trace her form stepping out towards the bed, towards the waiting man.

He took a breath; struggled with the words for a moment and then exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled at the empty mirror, refusing to look at it. His hand slipped into his pocket and caressed the bundle of notes there with as much tenderness as they had her face.

~ end ~