She lightly traces the lines of wood that made up her desk, her chin resting on it lightly as she stares down so closely. She can make out the ridges of her finger; hear too clearly the scrapes of her fingernail against the desk.

"This didn't mean anything," his harsh voice is echoing in her mind, lighting fires under her skin and she exhales furiously out her nose, sucking her teeth irately.

No, it didn't mean anything. His eyes weren't lit with new life; his fingers were not entranced by the canvas of her skin, lightly caressing her curves in worship. She did not sing his name like praise as he brought her closer to ecstasy, to that place of blinding pleasure.

"Idiot," she sighs and the feel of his breath on her neck is back, sending shivers down her spine. She's stopped tracing her desk but her chin stills laid there, staring blankly at all the knick knacks she's accumulated over the years.

The corner of her eye spots her still phone, no flashing light to indicate a missed text or call but she's not expecting one from him. He said not to fall for him but he held her close at night and let his lips move silently against her ear, making her weep. He wrapped his strong arms around her torso and pressed his head against her chest, on his knees.

She stares beneath his stone gaze, looks at the little boy inside. He's cold like ice; bruising grips and spiting words leave his thin lips trying to scar her, scare her, and create a distance. Her heart begins to ice and her heart beat slows.

Slim fingers crawl their way to the phone, as silent as a grave, and wake the screen. Two taps and her finger hovers above his name. It's a dance, painful and exhilarating, eliciting sensations from deep within. The double-edged sword must fall at some point and she grabs hold of the hilt firmly.

His smile flashes through her mind, a rare beauty that blooms only once a year and dries just as the sun touches its petals. It makes her heart quicken and she has to hold her hand over her chest to keep her muscle there, to keep it from escaping.

It's hard, to hold the sword and to swing and let it land where it must. There are things that she had to do, things she needed to do that would break her and cause her to run back to those arms that held and hurt her.

She touched his name, delicately, the final kiss, the point of no return and held the phone to her ear.

"What is it?" his voice is soft and she can feel a crumble, a crack in the stone of her decision. She's biting her lip, grinding the soft flesh to expose the words begging to stay inside and wait.

"We should meet up," she says, fighting her flesh that crawls and her soul that aches for that rare flower smile that he's shown. It overshadows the dark ice that he sometimes twists into her side willing to create that distance that allows him to breathe easy. It allows him to stay within his tainted shame.

A few beats of silence pass and her finger is swirling on her desk, tracing out apologies, tracing his name mixed with hers—a happy fantasy.

"Is that alright or are you busy?" That's his chance to create that distance to let her breathe, let her dream just a while longer.

If only Fate could be as kind.

"No, no, I'll come over, stay there," he commands and the sword is in motion.