Prompt: What's your favorite scene from the story you're working on?
For the first time, he really saw her. She was standing at the riverbank, sadness and defeat coloring her features. They had won this battle, but she did not easily accept even the loss of one life. Especially not a child, and they had lost a few today. They had not gotten to the commotion in time to stop it entirely. Kids died today. Kids died because he was too busy in bed with the woman in front of him. He felt a pang of guilt and scanned her for any signs of anger. He saw none, only the bone deep sadness she always wore after a life had been lost. He knew she blamed herself, considered herself to be selfish. She was strong, self-sacrificing, and beautiful. There was not a selfish bone in her body. But because she thought of them for a moment, she would condemn herself. Forget that it was her that broke from his embrace and went running down to the riverbank at the first sign of trouble. She should have known sooner. She was never good enough.
He took a cautious step toward her, hearing the burnt grass crunch loudly under the toe of his boot. She didn't look up, so he took another and another until he was within her reach. Until he could touch her. Because he needed to touch her. To comfort her; maybe to comfort himself. He cupped her face with his hands, running calloused thumbs across her cheek bones. Her skin was so soft compared to his. She looked at him then, her eyes bright with unshed tears. It looked as if she wanted to say something, but instead her bottom lip just quivered. It was his undoing. He ducked his head and crashed his lips into hers. His were dry and cracked, hers were soft and supple. She tasted like cherries.
"I don't love you," he said pulling away and resting his forehead against hers.
She swallowed against the ache in her chest, "Okay," she replied.
"I don't feel anything for you at all," he stated, emotionless.
She jerked out of his embrace then to stare at him incredulously. "You're a liar," she hissed. She spun around and stormed away from him, back toward the house.
He watched her leave. When she was a sufficient distance away he whispered, "Maybe I am."
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