Pallid

"Rhys," she mururs. I'm tired and sweaty and spent and all I want to do is sleep. "Rhys," she whines, nudging my shoulder. "Are you asleep yet?"

I haven't told her anything yet.

I wonder how long it'll take before she finds out.

"I was," I mumble, flipping onto my back--she'll kill me if I try to cuddle or hold her after (I should know that by now), so I've taken to sleeping facing the other way. She does too. "What is it?"

"Never mind," she says timidly. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm already awake," I mumble sullenly.

"Did you really mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said."

"Said when?" I sit up and she wraps the thin sheet around herself, hair messy looking.

"The other day, remember, when you got all pissy when I went out? You said that I didn't love you." I roll my eyes, flopping back against my pillow. "Did you really mean it?"

"Yes."

It's a stupid question, because she's told me (yelled it, screamed it) that she doesn't and tells me she hates me more than anything else (at least three times a day), so... I would assume she'd know the answer to her question.

"Oh."

She looks disappointed.

She reaches over me, digging her knee into my ribs, pressing hard as she digs around, looking, I think, for some cigarettes.

"They're next to the lamp," I say, reaching over and sliding them to her.

"I know where they are," she snaps. She lights one and smokes it, digging her knees into me even harder, as if that wasn't already possible.

She chain smoked the rest of the pack by herself, tossing the butts at my pillow, then climbed out of bed and to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Maybe I dreamed it, I don't know, but I could have sworn I heard her crying.