Do you love her too?

"You? Do you love me?" she asked in the middle of the storm.

"Very much," he replied, hardly paying her any attention.

Her brown eyes looked at him, heavy with anguish. Latent beneath her lashes, one could smell the fear. He sat up then and looked at her.

"Very much," he repeated like a spell.

The words caught in the girl's throat. If only there were some way to stop the words piling up in her soul.

Other eyes, other lips, other bodies, other hands, other details, other songs, other chances, other tears, other laughs, other sobs, other conversations, other details, other screams, other silences.

The others took on life, form, space, time, and body. Then the question spilled from her mouth.

"Her?" She took a breath to summon her courage and finally ask him, "Do you love her too?"

Dammit, they both thought at the same time. The question had settled between them, creating a space, a barrier, a rupture. They both knew that after the answer, nothing would ever be the same.

She was terrified. Because, looking into those light eyes, she realized he was weighing her question. Perhaps for the first time in his life, the inquiry had crossed his mind.

Had he never wondered if he loved the other woman? Had it never occurred to him to measure that affection? Was his love for her so immense it couldn't be counted? Why did she hate herself enough to think of all these questions?

He was terrified too. Loving her had been imposed upon him (sometimes he didn't know how to explain it, but that didn't mean loving her was a punishment; perhaps it was something more complex than that). She was fragile, tiny, and sweet-scented. She knew how to conquer and make the other person feel triumphant. He found that power play amusing because it made him happy to make her feel like a winner. He had also promised himself to take care of her (he had never told her so, but he always did). He knew her so well he could sense her pain, anticipating it to shield her.

Loving the other woman was different. Natural as breathing. He was so used to her presence that on the day she was missing, he had felt so empty that sadness had flooded him. He never knew what the other was thinking; she was a mystery with glasses, messy hair, and a furrowed brow.

Everything was difficult with the other one: the laughter, the tears, the kisses, the hugs. Everything was complex because they tasted of strawberry, chocolate, and guilt. Perhaps it was exciting to discover her inch by inch and know he could never fully understand her. Black, dark, and fascinating, observing her slowly, absorbing her atmosphere, her scents, her fears, her tears, her fingers, her hips, and her lips.

He took a breath. They both knew what would happen. He would tell her he couldn't measure his feelings for the other woman. He knew exactly how much he loved her; he knew the limits of his love, his affection, and his tenderness. Everything with her was measured, thought out, and deliberate (because she was fragile). With the other one, everything was wild, biting, and fighting (because the other one was strong). With her, there were promises of white dresses, houses, and children (because she was domestic). With the other one, there was no future, only a thrilling now full of gasps, eroticism, and digging fingers. With her, everything was a peaceful calm, like a familiar landscape for which you didn't need a map, because it was impossible to get lost in such familiarity. With the other one, everything was like being lost in the middle of a jungle, knowing yourself to be prey for all the animals, senses alert, ready to attack and devour her just to survive.

"I don't want to," she spat out. "I don't want to know anymore."

He smiled cruelly and said:

"You really don't want to know?"

She knew she would never completely know him. There were dark parts of him that she would never reach.

That was why she hated the other woman—because with the other woman there was no carefulness, no secrets, no limits. If the other one had asked, he would have answered without hesitation. Because the other one was so strong she could bear anything. Even being without him.

She could not exist in a world where he didn't love only her.

"No, I don't need to know."

THE END