NEVER DOUBT MY LOVE FOR YOU
by Andrew Hook

Two candles illuminate our meal. In the corner of the restaurant the intention is to create the illusion that we are alone within the glow, but his eyes might as well be flames as they flicker across to a party of girls seated over my shoulder. When he talks to me he looks at his food.

�Are you listening Matt?�

He nods. His mouth full of pasta.

�What did I just say then?�

He stops chewing. �How long is this going to go on?�

�What?�

�This interrogation. I know what you�re up to.�

I shrug.

�Well?�

It�s two months earlier. We have just made love for the first time and I can feel him leaking out of me, both of us careless through our anticipation and passion. My legs are over his. My hands rest on his chest, and I scratch the hairs there gently. In a few moments I expect him to go to sleep.

Instead, he leans over and whispers into my ear.

�I love you.�

�Huh?� He�s taken me by surprise. I hadn�t intended us to be more than we already had been.

�I said I love you.�

I just smile and kiss him. Feel the softness of his mouth, like a girl�s mouth I imagine. Like mine feels under my own fingertips. I run my hand through his hair and caress his cheek.

�Night Matt,� I say. Then I close my eyes and hope that he�ll do the same.

A week later and we�re standing outside my apartment. I hadn�t expected us to be together this long. Although I know he has to get up early for work tomorrow I�m hoping that he�ll invite himself inside. It�s not for me to ask. I feel like being taken again. I want to hear those words again. Since he spoke them they�ve invaded my body. My skin feels as though it�s been impressed like one of those pin pictures. I need to know that he needs me.

�Thanks for this evening Tina.�

�It doesn�t have to be over yet.�

He looks at his watch.

I smile.

I unlock the door and walk into my apartment without saying another word. When I hear the door close I know that he�s standing behind me. I feel his hands come to rest on my hips. Then they slip around my waist and he pulls himself closer to me. His breath is on my neck. �I love you,� he says.

I turn him around and press my lips urgently against his. My hands run up and down his back. I mumble under my breath. It happens all over again.

He calls me at work. I find myself waiting all morning to hear his voice. We confirm the evening. He ends by telling me how he feels, then I hear him hang up the phone. I keep the receiver pressed to my ear for a few seconds afterwards.

When he�s late I glance around anxiously. Cars drive by. Shadows lengthen. I�m totally uninterested in anyone else who walks passed. I wonder if tonight will be the night that I tell him. I wonder if I should tell him. I�m not even sure how I feel.

He slips his arm around me in the cinema. I rest my head against his shoulder even though it means I can only see half of the screen. I hear him breathe. I feel his warmth through his shirt. The movie reflects off his face. Colours improve him. Somewhere inside me I feel a sigh.

During my lunch hour I shop for novelty gifts that I never imagined myself buying. I doodle his name on my notepad during office meetings. I make plans to cook for him. I make plans.

He opens the door and we enter his apartment. It�s dirtier than mine, scruffy. It doesn�t matter. I pull him close and kiss him as I kick the door closed behind me with one foot. I�ve always wanted to do that. I crave his allure.

He leads me through the small kitchen and into the bedroom. My hands slip round his waist, undo his belt. His trousers fall to the floor. I take him in my mouth. It doesn�t feel the way that I�ve always imagined it would do.

He grips my hair.

�God I love you,� he moans.

We shop together in Habitat for furniture. It isn�t yet clear who will move in with who. I notice his eyes drop to the legs of the salesgirl on the sofa. Something becomes muted inside me. I reach out for his hand, and although he grips mine tightly I can sense him pulling away.

We leave the shop having bought nothing.

�Come here,� he says.

It takes me a moment.

Somehow, we disintegrate.

He lies in bed, our bed, facing the wall. I run my fingertips lightly over his pitted back. His skin is as white as the moon. I imagine puncturing the skin. I am full of curiosity. Nothing more.

The uncertain pressure in my heart rises and falls like mercury in a thermometer. I find myself looking at other men. I dream.

It becomes obvious to me that I no longer care for him as a person.

Now he finishes his pasta and wipes his mouth on the napkin. It stains like a chef�s lipstick might do, or like the smeared residue of blood on a sanitary towel.

He looks up at me. The girls on the other table are laughing again. He can see through me, but it doesn�t matter because I can see through him.

�Now what?� It�s both a question and an accusation.

�Coffee?�

The short walk to his car in the damp air freshens me.

He stands by the driver�s door, waiting for me to get in first, but we both sense that I won�t be doing so, even though I only realise it at that moment.

�Is it over?� he asks. I can almost hear a plaintive cry brewing at the back of his girlish throat.

I nod and walk away. He knew. He didn�t need the evidence.

He calls my name, and the words hang in the air like a fuzzy neon sign. The rest of the sentence isn�t spoken.

Already, he�s forgetting.