Antilove

Ventuno

Lucien's always had the same eyes. They never change with the day. Steady green and an abyss for pupils, they're the defining feature of his face. Lashes thick and eyelids glittering when he moves in the low light.

"God, you're beautiful," she breathes out, not even caring for his answer back.

"And you," he murmurs, face still marked with content.

Taking the arm he's propped his head on, he reaches forward to brush her bottom lip with his thumb. Instinctively, Rose's tongue darts out to meet it and to kiss it.

"Do I like you because you're beautiful? Because it's beneficial for me? Because I just need someone? Or because it's you?" she wonders out loud.

It's three in the morning and they're both lost in the passions of drinking and each other.

Wine is truth, is what her dad always said.

"It's probably not that deep, Rose. You don't have to justify attraction." Lucien blinks lazily at her and he closes his eyes.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"Not in your dreams."

"Then kiss me."

They do. Their tongues are practiced to this skill and Rose climbs on top of him. She vaguely remembers calling him a god and declaring her heart to him, in the middle of her drunken state. But that's the beauty in midnight. Nothing stays remembered or carved upon the mattress.

"Do you love me?" she asks. "Do you love me."

Lucien pauses his hands—how good they felt—and his eyes turn dark around the corners.

"You're not ready for my love. Not in a million years."

"So is that a no?" Rose cocks her head. "I'm disappointed."

"Are you disappointed with this?" he asks before his hips meets hers.

"Never. Oh god, right there," she cries. "Say you love me, Lucien. The way I love you."

"But you don't love me." Lucien's lips move against her shoulder. Rose catches his mouth with hers before he can speak up and all thought of romance is forgotten. All that matters right now is skin and salt.

***

Salt it is, running down her cheeks. The sunrise looks unholy on the streets of Los Angeles and she parks her car. Without even thinking, she's at her physician's office. Dr. Manning doesn't open this early but Rose knows she always comes before the clinic opens.

She gives her a ring and she's into the office.

"Rose, what's wrong?" Dr. Manning's voice, although she tries hard to conceal it, shows the hints of urgency.

Do I look that bad? Is it the eyes? Or the shaking?

"I'm getting worse. I feel it. I really feel it," Rose cries.

Dr. Manning runs her hands down Rose's arms and sits her down before shutting the office door. "Tell me why you think so."

"My hands. My mind. My mind, my mind, my mind. It's going crazy."

"We're going to do some breathing exercises, if that's okay with you. And then I'm going to do a diagnosis like always and we'll find out whether or not you're really getting as bad as you think you are. Everything will be okay." Dr. Manning starts getting out her files and she tells the receptionist to delay her next appointment.