“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, not as angrily as I would have expected.
“Oh, you know, balancing the chemicals, checking for leaks. The usual stuff.”
“Okay…” she took a breath and looked around. “What is this then, an apology?”
When you are in a situation where your lies have the potential to spiral out of control, and therefore trap you in a web of your own shitty design, always stall committing to any one idea. This situation wasn’t so dangerous, but the way she was talking to me freaked me out.
“You could say it’s something like that,” I said, standing up.
“That’s cute,” she responded. She eyed me up through her bruises. “You weren’t gonna try to come inside?”
“Oh, well, you know. It’s already so nice out here, I didn’t need to bother anyone.”
“You’re fucking weird,” she said, before walking up and kissing me.
Oh.
Nick Denardi 