The Eiffel tower whispered as she dozed on the balcony deckchair. He watched the soft beat of breath rise and fall in her chest. Mottled sky stared in. He didn’t move from the edge of the bed, hands clasped in his lap.
The bed sheets were ruffled, lying in rippled waves of long dead ecstasy, swirled around a box of half-eaten chocolates. She’d discarded them at the first opportunity.
Just like his love.
Fingers ran over the edge of the blade. He continued to stare at her, feet apart and elbows resting on his thighs. It had been running in his mind for days, emotionless and blank like a cheap seasonal card. He’d proposed and she’d laughed right in his face.
The ring hung as a reminder on a chain around his throat. He’d slipped it on after their lovemaking like some kind of token. The blade glimmered in the dull light, a shimmering white line that cut below his gaze.
“I love you…”
She nodded, ignoring him with her sunglasses on and her body disconnected from his. A wall of ice was gathering between them, pervading his skin, freezing sweat. It took him over as it had for days.
He was turning into her as all lovers do, consumed by their affections.
He stepped up from the bed, moving to the shadow of the doors and waited. “You heard me, didn’t you? What I said?” His voice was quiet but she nodded anyway. Maybe she thought he was still by the bed.
The knife twisted between his fingers. He’d given her so many chances to take it back, yet the words resounded in his head. You’re just my plane ticket out of here; can’t you be happy with that?
Blood spattered her ticket in the dark silence of sweet misery…
Check back next Saturday for the third #DearValentine post and don’t forget to check out the other entries!
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