She had this unsteady quality to her gait. I wasn’t quite sure if she had injured herself, or if she was just trying to look cool. One could never really tell with her. I assumed after a while that she wanted to fit in with the boys. I never had the heart to tell her it wasn’t working. After all, she was the only person I had in the world. What was the sense in ruining things between us? A little insecurity never hurt anyone. Or, at least, I couldn’t tell if it was hurting either of us.
My fingers were flying… not quite as fast as my brain, though. The loom kept me sane, in a way, burning up the energy she didn’t seem to have a use for. She complained once that I was going to bury us both alive in my creations, but I told her she’d appreciate it all once winter came back. Which she did, judging by how many of them she wore out of the house this morning. I couldn’t quite say why I stayed with her. She didn’t talk much and she was not much of a looker either. She definitely wasn’t a romantic. I suppose she was a damaged soul in need of fussing over, and that just happened to be that fussing was the one thing I knew how to do.
I must have been thinking too hard again. I didn’t notice she had come in and was watching me. Odd, really. She didn’t take much of an interest in my hobbies. I would have asked, but the likelihood of a proper reply was slim to none. So I continued to weave away, pretending I still hadn’t noticed her. That hurt less than to reach out and have my efforts hurled back at me like a boomerang. I wondered how long I could hold out this time. It usually wasn’t that long. She sat in silence, her eyes darting here and there to follow my movements. The mother instinct washed over me again.
“Did you eat?” I asked, sorry that I hadn’t held out longer. “There’s soup on the stove.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I can get it for you, if you’d like,” I insisted, ignoring the lie. She nodded. I put down my work and stomped into the kitchen. She looked at me, curiously. I hadn’t done that before. No, that was new. Usually I was light-footed and kind. But now I felt cheated. Deprived. Not once did she think to pleasure me with so much as a kiss. I may have been a glutton for ill-treatment, but I was no fool. I knew when I was being taken advantage of, even if I foolishly chose to stay.
I splashed the soup into a bowl and turned back to the sitting room, nearly knocking her over.
She had come up behind me unawares.
“I love you,” she said, running her fingers along my thigh.
The bowl slipped from my hands to the ground.