Posted: September 16, 2010 in Fiction, Love

“Baby, I’m sorry. You know I love you, but you know how I get when you won’t tell me where you been.”

“Yeah, I know. It was my fault, really,” she said. Her fingers closed around the handle of her pocketknife. It was a tiny thing with a black ovoid rubber handle. She squeezed it until she could feel the back of the blade cut into her hand, and waited for her vision to clear. He had hit her pretty hard this time. There was going to be a bruise for sure. She staggered to her feet, all the more unsteady because of her high heels.

“You know I don’t mean it. I’m just the jealous type. I get so scared because you’re so beautiful. I get scared that some guy is gonna take you away from me. You must hate me now.” He stood there, staring down at his hands, compulsively clenching and unclenching fists. He looked up as she started toward him, arms open. His mask of angst cracked and he smiled. “You’re the best, baby.” He wrapped her in his arms, and craned his neck down to rest his head on her shoulder. He breathed in as much as his lungs would take; she smelled so good. He could never take losing her. “I couldn’t live without you,” he whispered in her ear.

“You’ll never need to,” she whispered back. She wrapped her arms around him, and gently thumbed open the knife.


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