I read your poem," I croaked. "'Fall.'"
Then something I never thought would happen, happened: Marcus Flutie was shocked by something I said.
"You did?" he said. "I thought you lost it!"
"Well someone found it for me. Where do you get off saying," I lowered my voice, "we'll be naked without shame in paradise?"
He didn't open his mouth.
"I know what that means, you know. Who do you think I am?"
He didn't open his mouth.
"We are never going to be naked without shame in paradise."
He didn't open his mouth.
"We're NEVER going to have sex," I whispered, clearly over-stating my case.
He didn't open his mouth. The mouth that used to bite mine.
"And I'm just going to forget about that biting thing from the other night," I said.
He looked at me right in the eyes. If he'd focused hard enough on my pupils, he could've seen his own reflection, his own face smirking at me.
"You couldn't forget if you tried," he said, before walking away.
He's right. And I don't know if I hate him or love him for that.
