I've done you. I could say--I've seen what you have to offer.

And that would be all. Because to her it would sound so final--there's nothing like words to slash you so violently and leave so little behind. Words whip--

not cream. But flesh. Flesh you can't see until you close your eyes at night and try too hard to fall asleep. Flesh that reverberates in your dreams and claws its way into your nightmares.

But save that for another day. Because it wasn't what--

he meant to say.

He meant to choose a little more carefully. He meant to tell her he wanted to care..

but she forgot to tell him she didn't.

There wasn't any use in denying it. Like the storyteller who forgot to warn the man who lost his soul, she'd sat there with a smile and pretended there wasn't anything to forewarn--

about.

Ten days and two tickets to Paris--she'd watched as it all fell so smoothly around her...everything was smooth indeed. Save. For. Her.

I've done you, I could say. I've seen what you have to offer.

He repeated himself, then he crawled out of bed with a smile and went to fetch--

a glass of water.