𝐋'𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐮 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞

Chapter 11: A Guilty Ballad

Thunder is what wakes you today, filling your window with lightning seconds later. Vision and senses blur you as you burrow deeper into the cress on another's arm. You'd never need a pillow again if you had Will in your bed.

It's a comforting thought more than it is a fact. You see dimly in the night only of a far away lamp, the face of your supposive lover.

The sharp lines in his face run slack, giving him a softer look. His mouth slightly opened, letting out the gentlest of his breath in the paused quiet of the starting storm. You bring your hand up, oh so carefully to touch this stone face.

Grazing lightly on his eyelids, cheeks, and then lips. For a moment you swear his breathing stops, noticing your feathery touch. You move your steady hand to rest across his chest, running fingers over his hair in a relaxing manner, dipping your fingertips in just to comb the surface without a single pull.

You glance over to the alarm clock sitting on a nightstand, reading 7 o'clock. It would be best to get up now for work and have enough time not to rush.

Furtively, you slip out of the heavy embrace of William's arms and up to get dressed. While you're dressing yourself, you can hear him from behind you groaning from the disturbance.

"Miko," he says, "Don't leave yet, please."
His voice is soft, but deep with waking up from
the night.

You look over to him, laying in your bed with only the blanket covering his lower half.

Disheveled hair shapes his face flushed against a pillow, eyes in them peering up to you. You half-mindedly guess he wants to have sex with you again, or just to rest with you in his arms.

It's a sore mistake when the next words come out his mouth, stopping your hands on the buttons of your shirt.

"You didn't mean what you said, that you loved me right?" He rose up with his arms, shuffling to sit up to face you, "Because if you did, I hope you know I could never say the same to you."

You take a step back, almost knocking into a dresser behind you. You swear, with your own soul he told you he got the same, in just the smallest of whispers the night before.

With only the power of the smallest breath you knew what he said to you, what he meant. Only reason he'd be saying this now is if he regrets it, and you know a man full of regrets when you see one.

"I heard you say it, why take it back now?"

Bewilderment laces your voice, giving an edge to the comfort that was once in the room.

It makes you all the more mad when you feel your eyes brimming with tears, threatening to burst at the next words from him. It's a nasty feeling to be sad over someone like this.

You felt loved for the first time in years in that bed, now the image of him in it makes you want to throw up. Looking up to meet his gaze, you see his light eyes in the grainy darkness, noticing your own eyes.

"All of it, the dinner, my confession, the rest of it...I'm not meant for this, and neither are you."

"Oh so you cook for me and seduce me for what, what is your motive?!" Your shouting fills the room, pushing out the calmness of the morning.

One tear drops, and then the other goes faster than you can wipe away. At least your crying is silent, not a single sob coming from you to give him the credit of hurting you. He looks away from you, seeing the embarrassment that you are.

His jaw is tightened and you hope he has more to say, even if it hurts maybe it'll be better than the rest. He doesn't give you a second thought and leaves with an armful of his clothes that were once yours, right before another strangled statement can come from you.