Maybe one day she would tell him that she was sorry.
Maybe one day she would find the courage he had believed of her, within her once more and tell him she hadn't meant it.
But then she had meant it.
Maybe, maybe she would lie.
Yes that was it. She would lie. Her apologies would be lies. And maybe then he would look in her decietful, liquid chocolate eyes and see her for the traitor she was. He would see her, finally. The real her. That would be the day it would stop hurting. He would stop loving her. He would move on.
All fixed with a simple, sinful lie.
I love you Chuck.
I'll always be your family.
I'll always be here.
Don't you see?
I don't want you going anywhere.
I couldn't bear it.
So whatever you're doing to yourself.
Please don't do that to me.
Selfish hypocrite, he told her, the day she took her first step out if his life.
She had frozen for one instant, a seasalt scented icicle of muted guilt and loss and shame.
I loved you, he said to her as she stood frozen blue and sea.
She had turned to face him then, cracked out of her trance of thinking twice.
Well, her eyes saw the unshaven jaw and the eyes that were too searing to not be remembered, the loosened tie and the accusation in those eyes. Her voice didn't shake as his had that day. That's too bad.