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Description
He laughed at my wounded silence.

The static ring of his sneers slapped my mind like a fathers abuse upon a questioning child. I took the phone from my ear and simply let it rest, cradled in my palm. I watched it, feeling the dejection leak from my eyes, and wished it would just melt through my fingers and soak into the goddamn carpet.

Only when he ceased did I lift its rigid plastic back to my ear. I did not say a word. I could not say a word. Knowing myself, I would ask why he said such things. He hated the question.

Explanation, in his mind, is completely unnecessary.
I felt my lips flex and my throat itch as I held back my insecurity.

“Your new photos,” he whispered, his voice dripping, absolutely oozing with pure lust, “…are gorgeous. Send me more.”
“No.” I replied. My voice was taut and rough. I felt no desire to cover my tone.
“If you think you can just…” There I went again. Trying to tell him how he could and could not act. I was provoking him.
“What?” His voice was heated in pursuit.

“Nothing.” I murmured. For awhile neither of us said anything. My heart flailed desperately in my chest. I anxiously bit my nails and tried to wait it out.

I hate silence. I hated giving him time to devise a plan to beat me down.

“Tell me you don’t love me anymore.” I spat the words so quickly and harshly that a vein in my neck twitched.
“Why?” he questioned. I could hear him shift his weight as he gave a low grunt.
“Just say it, Julian.”
“I cant.” He spoke with an almost shaky voice, as if it hurt him to show anything except resentment towards me.
“WHY?!”

“Because…” he began and sighed, “because it’s not completely true.”

Description
He laughed at my wounded silence.

The static ring of his sneers slapped my mind like a fathers abuse upon a questioning child. I took the phone from my ear and simply let it rest, cradled in my palm. I watched it, feeling the dejection leak from my eyes, and wished it would just melt through my fingers and soak into the goddamn carpet.

Only when he ceased did I lift its rigid plastic back to my ear. I did not say a word. I could not say a word. Knowing myself, I would ask why he said such things. He hated the question.

Explanation, in his mind, is completely unnecessary.
I felt my lips flex and my throat itch as I held back my insecurity.

“Your new photos,” he whispered, his voice dripping, absolutely oozing with pure lust, “…are gorgeous. Send me more.”
“No.” I replied. My voice was taut and rough. I felt no desire to cover my tone.
“If you think you can just…” There I went again. Trying to tell him how he could and could not act. I was provoking him.
“What?” His voice was heated in pursuit.

“Nothing.” I murmured. For awhile neither of us said anything. My heart flailed desperately in my chest. I anxiously bit my nails and tried to wait it out.

I hate silence. I hated giving him time to devise a plan to beat me down.

“Tell me you don’t love me anymore.” I spat the words so quickly and harshly that a vein in my neck twitched.
“Why?” he questioned. I could hear him shift his weight as he gave a low grunt.
“Just say it, Julian.”
“I cant.” He spoke with an almost shaky voice, as if it hurt him to show anything except resentment towards me.
“WHY?!”

“Because…” he began and sighed, “because it’s not completely true.”