I Won't Call This Hell

"A movie theater's purpose is to help people forget about their lives for a few hours time, relax, and be entertained. Honestly, I can't believe you brought me here." I told John, leaning into my chair and pulling my jacket tighter around me (why do theater's have to be so cold?)

"I can. See," John leaned towards me, and the last of the credits disappeared from the screen. Everyone was quiet in the giant room, waiting for the movie to start. John's face was close, and his breath was warm and fresh in my ear. "I'm hoping you'll forget how much you hate me and then never remember again."

Then, the movie did start, and I was left to replay John's words in my head for two hours and eight minutes.

**

"Did you have fun?" John asked, letting the car idle in front of my house.

"I must admit, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

John gasped, "I can't believe you said that!" His voice was high and false, the expression resting on his face playful. That didn't stop me from noticing the soft downturn of his sad eyes. This pulled at my stomach, and I automatically felt guilty for making him upset.

I smiled, trying to soothe the expression out of his eyes. John smiled, too.

"Hopefully we can do this again," he said.

"Hopefully," I agreed. I placed my hand on the door handle, and pushed it open. "See you, Johno." I swung my feet out onto the pavement, and was about to stand when his hand grabbed mine.

His lips lingered on my cheek. "See you, Lynn." He squeezed my hand, smiling, his breath blowing onto my cheek. And then, I was free to exit the car and enter my house.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, just as I opened the door to my room. One new text message.

Still hate me?

I dropped my body onto my bed, my fingers working on their own. I clicked send before I could even consider my reply, even though I had no reason to.

I don't remember ever hating you.