curbside confessions

He tells her not to bother the cat, but her attention is fixated more upon his first comment -- if you choose to remain in my realm. Is she welcome then, or is it a slip of the tongue, a lapse in judgement before he realizes that he does not want her here? She doesn't answer, lapsing into consideration of that and her toes tap uncertainly upon the earthen floor, her distraction fluidly keeping her attention elsewhere until he speaks once more, harsh, bitter. Her eyes snap to him, a mixture of affronted and wounded and she knows he has mentioned the girl on purpose, knows he seeks to make her heart clench (and oh, he has). "I should go," she murmurs, but her legs are led -- she wills them to move, and instead remains still as a statue, finding that her urge is to resist gravitating towards him rather than fleeing this place that is his and not hers and she swallows, the knot thick in her throat. Her mind tells her to leave, her heart screams the opposite, and her body will respond to neither, leaving her simply staring at him, all but pleading for him to tell her what he wants -- be it her, or some other love he has found by now, she simply cannot live in suspense.