"What are you the most afraid of?" He asked softly
As he pulled the blanket off just enough of her thigh so he could feel his breath catch in his throat
While he stroked the soft pale skin
Almost glowing in the moonlight
She was quiet for a while
Watching his fingertips trace circles just above her knee
Playing like the fluttering wings of hummingbirds against her leg
The blue light from the T.V. flickered and she knew she'd have to give him some answer.
Shrugging before she spoke, discrediting whatever she was going to say before she said it
She told him "Of things not working out."
He pulled her head down onto his chest and stroked her hair
And she knew she had lied.
Things not working out was hardly the worst of her fears.
It was the silence, the complacency, the boredom and the iciness that always came before the leaving
That scared her most.
The venomous words that could part the tender lips of someone who once loved you
The way their soft hands that once held you could turn hard
The way their blue eyes that once adored you could hold no warmth or sense of home.
The terrible isolation that comes with not being loved anymore.
Instead of correcting herself and telling him this, she kissed his chest and pulled the blanket up under her chin.
Hoping for the best.