The Mantel and the Painting

Blue eyes are piercing, but most often pretty overrated for just that. Green eyes come soft -- passionate, but brief, lovers, who kiss necks but don’t stare directly into faces. But brown eyes are smooth, like southern accents and sleepy grins. They’re a little shyer than other colors, a little more vulnerable.

Adam had brown eyes, deep brown pleading eyes. It was overkill, really.

Jenny dipped her head in the other direction, looking away. She slid her hand behind her neck, rubbing her fingers over her skin and trying to appear distracted. She had no other way to tell him to stop than to just disconnect herself from the scene. But another thing about boys like Adam: maybe they just didn’t want to, but they had trouble taking hints.

He didn’t stop; he kissed her shoulder. She sighed. And he did look up.

Jenny turned her head back to him. Her lips moved, folding. They curved upwards, but it wasn’t the shape that made a smile. So, giving in, she just bit them.

Adam thought he was being cute, acting the masculine role in their top-heavy relationship, by brushing some golden hair behind her ear. Then he looked her in the eyes, expectant.

“What?" she whispered. What do you want from me?

It took him a moment to verbalize the request, “Just tell him that you love me.” He swallowed. The sentence had come out smoothly, with its pausing and hesitation only on either end.

Jenny looked at him, and unwelcome realization, mixed with disgust, washed over his body when he figured that these looks she always gave him – every time he strained for her attention –were sympathetic. She looked at him with frustrated eyes, scrutinizing; hunched eyebrows that were both irritated and sorry for the fact that he could not seem to understand; and sighing lips that, regrettably, wondered how to break the news.

She shook her head, “No,” and it was all there -- the explanation that he did not, nor had he ever, meant nearly as much to her as he had hoped.