Time moved as it often does when in silence; at a snail's pace, each sour glance over the glasses met with one of cruel innocence; today neither can be blamed. The glass is brought to her lips in revenge, and as it oozes its deadly poison into her mouth, she smiles, for he wont be there to witness her punishment in the morning. A frown appears on the other woman's face, her question spoken with a new disbelief. "This amuses you?"
The shrug of reply speaks volumes as silence once again crashes over the pair loudly as for the first time this evening, they consider what this really means for both of them; A house without a husband, a child without a father.
'And a hospital without a conman' floats her silent response, the words not leaving her mind as her twisted smile transpires again, in a flash removing the tired elements, and replacing them with something new; a hilarity which sinks no deeper than the skin; a quiet inner amusement at the unusual circumstances which have brought the pair together today.
"My grandfather…" Silence shatters in an instant as the woman asks the question which has been musing on her mind since her lover was arrested.
"It's dead and buried." Comes the other's tired reply, shutting her eyes to signify her desire to avoid any further contemplation of the situation into which they have been thrown, almost without warning as events proceeded to take them unawares. "Please let's leave it there."
"I can't…"
Two words bound with regret and an apology. Whether for the liaison initiated between herself and her companion's husband, or more simply for ignoring the second woman's plea to let sleeping dogs lie, remains to be seen. However it is the heavy emotion which makes her voice break, which rouses the other woman from her state of silent indifference and the pity in her newly-opened eyes for the stranger not yet trusted enough to be called a friend, is obvious.
"You're right."
Compared the question posed, its answer is toneless, void of any emotion other than sheer exhaustion, and a desire to end the elapsed conversation and descend once again into the wordless haven she had come to prefer.
"He told you to fake it?"
No longer alone with her thoughts, her smile fades, soon replaced with the betrayal which washes over her roughly. Her response barely leaves her lips; whispered almost silently; the swallowing of emotion clearly evident in its tone.
"He was my husband"
And remorse is felt on either side this time as they begin to realise that the women they had been working with so long, didn't really exist at all. Now simply the shells remain of the confident women that had walked into the hospital that morning, stripped of their protective barriers and further unarmed by their love of the set same man, who, in the end, reverted to type, unable to keep up his pretence any longer.
The re-living of the greedy fingers trapped between the biscuit tin and its lid, brings yet another bitter smile to the first woman's face. He was far too intelligent to deny the crime any longer, but in too deep to realise that his attempts to justify it had fallen on empty ears; deafened by one fabrication too many. This left her with possibly the most frustrating question ever posed to her; one which she held no real hope of ever answering truthfully; Was he too worried about his future to detect her lies, or too blinded by love for her to anticipate her actions? One thing was certain she thought, she would never really know.
"How long were you together?"
A question with an infinite number of answers, the main problem being which one to give. She had little to gain from her usual response, and piling lies on top of lies was not something she wished to continue further.
"Since I was sixteen"
A reply which may have been uttered from a third person in the room for all the similarity it held to her usual voice. More emotion than she had wanted to share, tongue shocked by the heavy tone uncovering the lies which had been told before; they had met in university, married soon after.
"You were his mistress." Her consort states, her expression clearly suggesting she doesn't expect a reply. The woman voices an explanation almost immediately, although not unwittingly spoken, unwanted all the same.
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