“What were your plans for us that night?” A heavy beat passed. And then his head slowly canted back to me. Every muscle tightened. His fingers clenched and splayed, his biceps twitching in response. He shook his head back and forth as if trying to eradicate the question from the space between us. “Don’t ask me that.” “Why not?” “Don’t ever ask me that,” he repeated, rasping out the words like they were tiny needles pricking him on the way out. “Please.” “We should talk about it.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Yes, there is. Maybe we should—” “You fucking lied to me!”
MY PULSE IS GONE
