Photo by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
She watched as he climbed into their bed longing for his hands to run across her body beneath the moonlight, to feel his breath capture hers, yearning to hear bedroom words whispered evocatively, but as he settled he thrust his arms behind his head and began to talk.
He grumbled, and groaned, and complained from the moment his head hit the pillow to the moment he fell asleep.
With fury and resentment pumping through her body in response to his perpetual deference, she propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him. She growled through clenched teeth, her fists balling the pillow in her hands and she began some pillow talk of her own.
They lie, their bodies barely touching. The bed sheet crumpled and kicked half to the floor now scarcely draped across their stomachs. The pale moon peeked nervously through the curtains as her eyes roved, taking in the contours of his upper body lit by silvery rays. She watched as he lie beside her, finally still and acquiescent.
She reached across, took his hand in hers and gently stroked it, her soft fingers caressing his knuckles and his rough skin. She eventually lifted the pillow away from his face, and glanced at his expression, calm and serene in the silvered light.
She sighed, it was the quietest he’d ever been at this time of night and she realised despite all his talk, he’d never really offered an opinion on euthanasia…
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