#doloriel

"Are you telling me you don't feel the same way?" I wanted to hit everything. I wanted to rip the covers off the bed, spilling her and everything we'd done like a magician's tablecloth trick gone embarrassingly wrong. "Go ahead, then. Tell me. Let me hear you say it." She looked at me then, really looked at me for the first time since she'd come through the door, eyes somber and serious. "I don't feel the same way you do, Bobby." It was like being knifed in the gut. I've had that happen, so I know. The air pushed out of my belly, the cold hard ache of something that shouldn't be there, shouldn't ever be there - it was almost exactly the same.