Decisions

How can she be happy when his stiff back arches away from her body? The droplets of water well in her eyes, but she cannot betray her stoic visage. She's capable of handling rejection. Her mother trained her well. Her dark eyes must bore into her lover's as if telling him that she's a force to be reckon with, a deadly tempest. The tempest only stirs within.

She sits up, impatient and restless. She grabs the Bible from her nightstand, but the Good Book only burns her palms. Her veins push sin through her body tainting every cell. The flesh is weak.

She told him exactly what she felt, what she wanted. Perhaps her mother and friends would not criticize her decision to crawl into his bed each weekend. But his flesh throbbed for her, and her heart cried for him. Tonight, she was in the same place, no progress in their relationship. He resisted committing to her, despite her pleas, and she turned over, as sad as ever. His mind was made – he wanted her body and occasionally her company, but there were dozens of women waiting to give him the same. How could she compete?

Her dark hair flowed like rivulets over the pillow. She throws the Good Book back on the night stand, but misses and it thuds on the ground. He stirs a bit from the noise, but the sleep is too deep for him to be disturb by a noise.

'There's no point,' she thinks as she gathers her belongings from the ground: purse, sunglasses, undergarments, and her dress. She swiftly changes from the nightshirt she leaves at his house for nights like this, into her clothing from earlier in the day. The dinner was a nice touch, a gesture for a friend, but she thinks it best to pay for her half. She places a $20 bill on the nightstand and leaves. She reckons she'll never come back.