:::by jill:::

�will you always defend me?� she asked.

�always,� he whispered.

�even when I�m wrong?�

�even then.�

they lay in silence for a moment. the room smelled like cereal and old things; they�d snuck away to watch the sunrise, but realized later that the windows in room were facing south, not east. he had created a fake paper sun out of red construction paper, stuck it to the glass closest to the bed.

�why is it that I need to know that?� she shifted her weight, turned on her side to face him. She pulled her knees up to her stomach, wrapping in her own warmth.�what difference does it make?�

�it makes all the difference,� he said. �it means that i�d rather do the wrong thing than see you hurt. it means you�re important to me.� he ran his thumb along her lower lip, her teeth.

�i would rather never be wrong,� she murmured, kissing his shoulders, his collarbone . the sideways sunlight was beginning to creep in. �i�d rather that just your saying so could make me good. can you make that happen?�

his eyes searched the room. the ceiling, mostly. he breathed gently, like water. �no,� he said. �i don�t know how to do that.�

�it�s okay.� she opened her hand on his back. �knowing that you want to is enough. that you would if you could.�

The red paper sun looked dark against the light.

<< 2002-03-26 @ 3:07 p.m. >>

| virgin | slut | about | bitch | bitch more | brains |
| call us | girls' night out | dressed us up |
| man in our lives |

receive an e-mail when femmeproject is updated:

email:
Powered by NotifyList.com