They laid there that morning, both of them awake but neither of them wanting to acknowledge the daylight, knowing that this would be the last they saw of each other. They listened to the sound of the rain on the ceiling for hours. She moved her eyes to her left, searching for her glasses but not wanting to disturb the painfully peaceful silence that they had going. She felt his calloused hand touch hers and she closed her eyes, cringing.
Finally, she moved her face toward his, meeting his deep grey eyes with her unusual red ones. He carefully, softly, slid her glasses on her face. As her world got clearer, her eyes met his again. He brushed her forehead with his lips before slipping out of underneath the sheet she held to her chest and pulling his boxers on. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the side of the bed she was laying on and pulled her to where she was sitting up on the edge of the bed.
She watched with emotions she couldn't recognize as he held her leg to his lips, planting a feather-light kiss on the top of her knee.
He stretched to his left and grabbed hold of where they had thrown her sheer, black, knee-high pantyhose that they had so carelessly discarded in the hurry of needing to be with each other for the last time last night. He slid his hand slowly down her leg and then, with her pantyhose, slid it back up, resting it just past her knee. She closed her eyes as he repeated the process with her other leg and didn't open them until she felt his hand run through her red hair.
She was almost startled by the amount of sadness she saw in his dark eyes as he watched his hand play in her hair.
Almost.
His sad eyes moved to her face as he pulled her up and turned her around, her back to him. He ran his hands painstakingly slow down her shoulders and arms, sending shivers down her spine as he pressed his face into the juncture of her neck. She ached so badly to lean back into him, melting into him as she had so effortlessly done the night before, but she withheld herself.
His hands left her body and he reached for her bra that was hanging off the edge of the bed. She started to raise her arms, and he gently pushed them back down. He lifted her arms himself, one and then the next, slipping her bra on. His fingers ghosted the skin of her back as he buckled it.
He bent down to the floor and picked up her dress. This time she remained still as he lifted her legs and slid her black dress up her body, settling it at her breasts and slipping her arms in it before he zipped it. She felt him pause. She was fully dressed now.
His hands lifted and then rested on her hips and pulled her close to his body, squeezing her as if he was trying to memorize how her body felt against his. She knew that he was.
He gently turned her and sat her back on the bed. She closed her eyes once more as he led her face in his hands and, this time, pressed his lips roughly to her forehead. She kept her eyes clenched tight as he pulled away and she heard his light footsteps as he went around the bed again. She didn't know exactly what he was going to do next but when she heard him pulling on his pants, her eyes flashed open in anger.
She threw herself off the bed and stomped over to him. He was pulling on his shirt. She put her hand on his shoulder and could tell he was startled, but she didn't care. She spun him around and, with the accusing anger in her face, met his eyes as she smacked his hands away from the buttons on his shirt and nearly ripped it from his shoulders. She had the offending shirt in her hands as she finally registered the shock on his face. Her face contorted in pain and brought her hands up and buried her face in his shirt. When she finally lifted her face, he had drawn his eyebrows together in a silent question. She just looked at him and brought her hand up to cup his cheek, stepping closer to him.
Why would you deny me this?
Recognition sparked in his eyes and she placed her forehead on his.
Without moving their heads she slid her hand down his arm and slid his arms in his shirt, as he had done for her. Pulling her head away, it took all her concentration to just button the damn shirt without the tears welling up in her eyes. She knew that if he saw her cry he would take longer to leave and she needed him to leave.
She bent to pick up his red tie and she recognized it as the one she had bought him. She stood and popped his collar, slinging the silk tie around his neck and tying it loosely. She looked back into his eyes and felt her lip tremble at the pain in the dark grey there.
She broke eye contact and got his suit jacket. This time she walked to his back and put it on that way so she wouldn't have to see his face. She smoothed out the jacket and picked invisible lint off his shoulder. Her forehead collided with the back of his neck as she threw her arms around his shoulders. She felt his hands grip her arms in what felt like a death grip and she knew in that she would never forget the way they felt in that moment. The air in the room grew thick and she willed her tears away, commanding herself not to cry.
They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity.
And then he kissed her hands, got his shoes and keys, and didn't look back. She knew that it wasn't because he didn't love her, he loved her so much it hurt, but it was because if he had looked back she would've seen the tears on his own face. For now she could pretend the wetness she felt on her arms was from a leak in the ceiling or something.
Then she heard the door click shut.
She was suddenly on the floor. Her knees hurt.
And she couldn't pretend the wetness on her face was from a leak in the ceiling.