She looked up from the careless mountain range of pillows when he asked the question, unexpected. She wasn't sure how they had got onto this topic. The night had started with a blood trail of discarded clothes. Her neck hurt, turning to look at him, so she rolled over onto her back, the room was poorly lit so she didn't bother to cover up.
-Why did you ask me that?- her voice tumbled over the sheets and into the space between them. She uncoiled in the bed, her long limbs limbs pouring out of her comforter, she laid on the bed like it was a throne. He thought that in the dismissive charmed dark that hid the residue of the night's makeup and the pink spots of pressure his fingertips and lips would have made on her pale skin, she looked angelic.
-Because I wanted to know.- he answered. She didn't know how he did that just said or asked whatever he wanted so casually. The original question had jarred her Can you be trusted? She could hear him stretch, she didn't know when she had learned the sound of his skin being pulled taunt. She knew he wasn't angry or in a rush to receive her answer, he would wait minutes or weeks until she answered, or forever if she did not. He believed all anyone could do was ask the questions that were written on the walls of one's own heart. The answers were gifts.
-I don't know. What sort of trust are you talking about?- she said. He flicked on the light of the bathroom. He was backlit then, his form all dark and outlined. She thought it was the perfect image of him, summed him up, somehow managing to expose himself and still remain concealed.
He said her name. He didn't do that often. She propped herself onto elbows as he shook his head softly.
-There's only one kind of trust.-
And closed the door.
