Playing with Fire, Burns
written in the 2nd quarter of 2003

"I wonder how you still feel about me," he said.

But she never budged. The only thing that swirled around her head was the want for sleep. She has not had any decent ones lately. And the concept of post-coital slumber was too good to pass up. Besides, she did not even know his name. She used to, you know. With that endearing smile that always went with it whenever it rolled out her tongue.

That was then.

Now, she was fighting sleep; supposing that he was paying for the hours consumed. She should, at least, show a sign of attentiveness. Of interest. That was the best she could do to acknowledge the amazing fuck of two minutes back.

"Three things come to mind when you ask me that,”"she replied with feign alertness. "Friendship. Compassion. Concern." She knew those were not hitting the mark, but she could not find the right words. "Really, I don’t know. I don’t at all."

She turned her back to him, trying to avoid his eyes, not liking the way they searched hers. Her eyes were bad liars, and she could not let the deception unravel at that time. Somebody had to pay for the bill so she should be nice. Patronizing, at least. Because that small piece of paper definitely would not be landing in her hands.

"I love you." He almost cried.

A voice inside her head jolted her from idleness. It choked.