"I didn't say that. I?—"
"Don't lie to me, Red!"
Silence and tension build until her expression tightens. She swings her legs over the side of the mattress and plants her feet on the floor.
My body reacts before my mind shuts it down. I straighten, shoulders locking, hands curling at my sides.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asks.
The question lands low and dangerous.
"You didn't. You know this isn't about that."
She studies my face like she's trying to read a language I've stopped speaking. "Our situation is our situation. We'll figure it out."
I don't answer right away. I step away from her and move toward the dresser, putting something solid between us that isn't my body. The room looks different now. Too clean. Too honest.
She leaps off the bed naked and steps in front of me. "So you don't want me anymore?"
"You know that's not true," I answer.
"Then why are you acting differently from when I fell asleep?"
Before I can think about it, I declare, "It's morning. Things change when the sun comes up."
Her jaw tightens. "So you don't want me anymore."
"I didn't say that."
She takes a step closer. The space between us shrinks, charged and restless, and the memory of her pressed against me last night flickers through my head, making everything harder.
She says, "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Talk like you're already gone."
I meet her eyes. Anger, awareness, but also caution are there, which takes me by surprise.
"Don't go," she quietly states.
I put my hand on her cheek. "I'm not gone, Bluebird. I'm standing right here."
She closes her eyes, asserting, "That's not what I mean."
"I know."
She opens her eyes, crosses her arms, and declares, "You don't get to decide this alone."
"I'm not deciding anything for you."
Her laugh is short and sharp. "You already are."
I turn back to her. "I'm deciding what I won't lie about."
"Which is what?"
"That last night didn't erase what exists outside this room."
