When everything's done, what remains are the words and the gestures. But regrets pierce the skin: nothing is more disturbing than the unsaid words that we know we are still capable of saying.
She writhed beneath me, her eyes hidden by her hair. Pulling me closer, I leaned in response and caught a glimpse of her forlorn eyes. They bore a darker shade than the usual butter that I know. I looked down and my pace went sluggish.
"Don't stop." She said. I complied and accelerated without looking up. In spite of the sadness that I saw a second ago, I didn't want to disappoint her.
What's wrong, I wanted to ask. Coward. I knew what was playing on her mind. I was all too aware of it. No matter how restrained they were, I was able to pick out tiny traces of emotion and silent communication lines left for granted just by looking at a person's face, especially her face. A slight movement of her lips, a sudden jerk of her facial muscles, or the way her eyes soften when the light entering her lens was reduced, deepening the sunflower color of her irises all get me hyped-up at times, though i hide it well enough. Decades of experience has made me more observant.
What is it Rose? Yeah, act all innocent and cute--how Emmett of me. Well at least i worry, right? Still I didn't ask and I reached my climax instead.
I paused and she started to stimulate me, challenging me to another round by kissing me fiercely. I kissed back with closed eyes and started getting inside her. She laid back and held my neck as I went on. I caught her eyes stare at the ceiling. It wasn't vacant or filled with bliss; it wasn't from far away. It was pain in every different angle. In that tenth of a second I took in her tormented expression, I felt my lips twitch to the side. I couldn't take it. I got out immediately and wrapped my arms around her. She buried her eyes in my chest as if she was crying. If she was able to draw tears, my torso could've been wet from all her sobs. Trembling, I moved deliberately to shift my weight and positioned myself properly so that I was now at the bottom. I drew her hair away from her beautiful face and ran a hand over her cold shoulders.
"It's useless."
I knew. She knew. Still, she pestered on and insisted that we keep trying. I couldn't blame her. I would want the same for her, for us. But even with our advanced senses, there are things that are beyond our control. We are far from happy too, perfect as it seems, for in this life, we are deprived of one of the most profound little joys of love: life.
She continued to lie on my chest as I gave her a back rub. I kissed her gently just as she said the words that broke me apart.
"I'll never be a mother."
The words came in softly, hurriedly, like she was having a conversation with herself, but it pierced through me and weakened my bones.
I'm sorry. I mouthed them in her hair.
"At least we'll never have gray hair or wrinkles or bed sores." I smiled weakly. It was all I could do.