She just sat there. Staring at him. Hazy eyes wide open and liquid. The flimsy strap of a nightgown barely covered her entire body, minute as it was. Her legs were folded neatly beneath her and her little fists dug into the fumbled white covers all over the bed.
They had finally done it.
She had finally done it.
And he sat opposite her on the other end of the bed. Aware of her stares but still his gaze was permanently fixated on the ground. He barely even twitched a muscle. His torso was bare and was only dressed in a loose fitting pair of grey linen trousers. The silence between them was louder than the noises of a hundred steam trains. It was as heavy as a giant anchor and it seemed to hold them still in time. In some sort of unconscious awareness.
She was the first to break the bounding spell.
He felt the shift in the air. Heard the covers ruffle a little and from somewhere in the corner of his eyes, he saw the pressure of a distant figure move closer. She was mobbing closer. Her legs now spread out behind her like a flock of a wedding dress as she crawled on her knees, cautiously and slowly towards him.
He did not mean it. He didn’t even know how it happened. Because he was only semi aware of everything, his mind in an incessant buzz of revolving thoughts. But as she pulled closer, and stretched out her hand to touch his arm, he pulled away. He pulled away. He didn’t know how or why, he just did. Something inside him, something uncomprehensive and controlling made him do it. And a second later, when her empty calling hands loosely hung in the air and dropped to her side, as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped slightly, realization hit him. It hit him like a five hundred pound punch of cement to the solar plexus. But he still couldn’t move. He just held her dejected gaze for a while, uncertain about everything. And in the creases of pain and hurt on her face, he could see her heart shattering into oblivion.
As her hand fell back in place and her head hung lowly in despair, something grew in his chest and stuck in his throat.
He had wanted this, probably even more then she had.
Hell, he still wanted this.
Then what was this cloud of hopelessness that seemed to hover around his head?
Why did if feel cataclysmic as much?
And once again, he looked at her. Crushing all around him, falling through reality of the moment, yet still beautiful. Like a sad angel. Glorious in pain.
They both wanted this.
But she was sick.
Maybe even dying.