You don't have to suffer.

He said, "It's as if your spiritual well-being is tied to your physical-dis-ease. Like you want to suffer. As i--"

"That's, that's," Interrupting. Shaking her head. Trembling with stifled rage, about to explode, through her teeth she said, "That's absurd. And you know it."

With a single look, he pierces the hard shell of her soft feminism, she melts into him. She remembers how she described him. "It's in his eyes." And now he slays her with them.

That look. She'd come to know it so well. Observers of the two could never get enough.

"Watch, them." A woman holds a man by the arm. "You gotta see this." Then before envy could transform into jealousy, the woman sees it. "He loves her."

They were different. He knew her. The way he looked at her. The look that held her her, almost against her will.

He leans forward as not to startle her and come across harsh. "If he gave you a way to take care of it, would you take it?"

"I suppose so."


"But what,' she protested.

"Exactly." And he winks.

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