chapter two

"I'm scared that as soon as we leave this bed..."

I stared at his pillow, avoiding his searching eyes.

"That it will be over," he finished.

I lifted my head slowly, eyes still locked in place. Then I closed them, and breathed.

"Well, what are you doing tonight? We could see a movie, or maybe grab some dinner?"

Eyes still closed, I smiled.

"Why don't you come up with a plan, and let me know what it is. Then we'll see how I'm feeling."

I looked at him, and made a face. The mood shifted, and he smiled, reaching for me. I burrowed my head into the crook of his arm, and he pulled me forward, turning me away from him and pulling me close.

His favorite thing to say was always "I feel safe with you." He would say it during serious talks, during intimate moments. It seemed like a strange thing to say. I'm dangerous. Wreckless. Unpredictable.

He knew it, too.  In moments of disconnect, of selfishness, he would tell me he didn't trust me. I was a risk, I was frightening. Dangerous, wreckless, unpredictable.

Laying there, feeling his chest rise and fall, his voice ran through my head. I feel safe with you. And suddenly I felt my chest tighten, my heart sink, my stomach ache. This small place--my body against his, warm in my bed, in our tiny corner of the world--was the most dangerous place of all.

I knew then and there that it was over. We hadn't even left the bed.

"I have to go to work," I said.

We untangled ourselves and stretched. I rose, and walked to the closet. I heard him stand and walk over to get his things together while I pulled on some shoes.

I walked out into the hall and made a sarcastic complaint, and he heckled me as he shut the door behind us. I turned to him and playfully jabbed his sides. He grabbed my hands and we both laughed. He leaned down and placed a simple kiss on my still-smiling lips.

We seemed normal. Hopeful.

"Too bad I have to work, or I'd take you to a 'Sorry-you-lost-your-job-breakfast,'" I said, turning to him as I reached my car.

"You could take me to a 'Sorry-you-lost-your-job-lunch?" he suggested. "It's not like I have anything to do today."

I smiled.

"We'll see how I feel about you by lunchtime," I said. "I'll probably hate you by then."

He made a face, and opened his car door.

"Have a good day!" I called.

"Bye," he said, in a Southern accent. Neither of us knew why we always parted that way.

"Bye," I mimicked, and pulled my door shut. Starting my car, I looked back at him as he climbed into his car and smiled back at me, waving.

As I pulled away, the panic I had felt that morning settled in again. I knew, watching his brake lights illuminate in my rear-view mirror, that I would never see him again.