"Amon, can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"Do you --,"
She knew exactly what to say, but the words stuck in her throat. For every night he left her bed early, for every thought he never told her, for every touch that had been half-hearted, she wanted an answer.
But Amon wasn't the type to answer. He was a question in and of himself. He wasn't built for answers.
How could she even ask questions when she didn't want to know the answers?
"I'm sorry things couldn't have been better."
So was she.
But she still couldn't ask –