Slices of a Life Worth Living

"Eat the damn pie!" he yells across the kitchen table. Her face is frozen, staring at him with big eyes.

The clock ticks and neither say a word.

Slowly, the corners of her mouth begin to turn upwards, and he finds himself mirroring her.

They laugh, and laugh and laugh and laugh as they sit in his tiny kitchen of wood in the middle of the night.

She shuffles a piece of cheese pie into her mouth while she's still laughing, which makes him laugh even harder.

"Dear God," he exclaims as he wipes the tears from his eyes and smiles at her.

He leans across the table and kisses her. They kiss and laugh and eat and kiss, and for a while there are no such things as jobs and obligations or responsibility.

He could get used to it.

xxxxx

"Grow up, you ass." she says, voice calm and quiet, which frankly scares him more than when she yells.

He gives her a sarcastic smile, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't dare.

"That girl didn't deserve the way you treated her," she says, "It wouldn't hurt to show her some respect, would it? It doesn't matter whether she has fake boobs and unnaturally huge lips or fake blonde hair, because she deserves to be treated like any other person on this damn planet. " He is on the couch while she is standing before him, staring down at him. "Are you even listening?" she's yelling now, dark pupils dangerously small.

"Go to hell," is his only answer. He knows he is being petty. He knows she is right. But he cannot accept it right now. He doesn't want to be this grown up who's in a serious relationship and doesn't party during the weekends. For an evening, he had just wanted to be like he was before. At this very moment, he doesn't understand why the hell he even bothers with her.

xxxxx

The bedroom is dark and cold. It doesn't matter because they're under the thick covers in the king sized bed and when they lie close to each other, their combined body heat keeps them warm. She's snoring softly, face turned away from him. He gently presses his fingers against the skin on her arm, lazily tracing patterns on it. Her skin is soft and warm and soon he is tracing patterns on her bare back as well. She doesn't wake. He feels the warmth in his belly, making its way through his body. In moment like these, he cannot understand how he managed to get her.

xxxxx

"Do you think a person can feel too much empathy?" she blurts out the question when they're in the car on their way to work. They hadn't said a word all morning, simply enjoying the presence of another person at the breakfast table.

His head turns and he looks at her for a moment, not knowing what to say. Her face is a serious mask of gentle curiosity as her eyes meet his.

"What?" she sighs.

"Um," he begins as he remembers to keep his eyes on the road.  "I don't know, K."

She always manages to surprise him like this. Just when he thinks he has got her figured out, she says something like this. Sometimes he fears he will never understand her.

"Why do you ask?" he says tentatively.

She looks at him, and he fears she will roll her eyes in annoyment or impatience but she smiles, eyes brown and big, framed by dark hair. The sun lights up her skin and he cannot stop staring.

"Nevermind," she says, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

xxxxx

He holds her as she sobs.

"Shhhh," he says against her hair. Seeing her in pain tears him apart, it really does. They haven't slept in days, haven't had a proper meal in many hours. They're keeping vigil.

The hospital in which they are is full of people, patients, machines and lights.

He holds her close, trying to block out the world.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she sobs, and for the first time since he was twelve, tears roll down his cheeks.