Chapter 21

21

She is quietly self-assured, calm in her own skin. The world is much smaller to her because she is much smaller than the world. She sits across the circular coffee table from me, an honest picture of quiet awareness. Her spirit boils these words underneath my skin.

Perfect from the ground up she catches my gaze and smiles from the side of her mouth before quickly darting her eyes back to a page. Page three hundred and sixty-five of Anna Karenina. Without word we've agreed to sit here this way, knowing of each other's presence, but unquestioning the situation.

She sighs softly as she turns the page.

Three hundred and sixty-six.

There is a small murmur of conversation buzzing around us, but the voices do not permeate our secluded bubble. Safe, warm, complete, we sit alone among the many, absorbed in mutual trust.

Her nose is a gentle slope, her eyes a watery blue. Her brown hair sits on her shoulders softly as she pulls it behind her ear. With painted fingernails she taps her coffee cup, pondering.

Pondering.
Pondering.

And I sit, pondering. My unpainted, gnawed nails tapping my bearded chin. She couldn't know the words she fills my mind with, the love letter I pen under my breath.

We were happy here, once. This is how we should have stayed. But everything evolves like a reptile. Everything beautiful eventually sheds its skin.

I've guzzled my coffee down to the sludge, the sugary substance passes my lips and slowly, methodically, makes it's way to the back of my throat.

Control. I let go. My breath sticks in my nostrils as I exhale. I slide my right foot forward just a touch, just a bit closer to her.

My mind is a maze of misinformation. I've never been here before, with her, sipping sludge from an insulate cup. But I have, haven't I? My mind, my memories, they can't lie to me when I need them the most. I have nothing but them to rely upon.

She, like her mother, is breathtaking.