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the ink dries in the well

‘When I’m with you,’ she told me, ‘everything outside disappears,’ she rolled over to face me, stroked my cheek with her fingertips. ‘All my cares and worries melt away.’ She kissed me on the mouth, ‘you make it right.’
‘I’m not here to rescue you,’ I said.
‘I know, silly; I know why you’re here, now. But we get on, don’t we?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We get on. Really well.’

We did get on, I thought. Maybe we got on too well. How do you play this, I thought, without becoming a player?

The bedroom door creaked open and I pushed myself up on one elbow to see Starlight, velvety grey in the half light, padding across the floor. She sprang up onto the bed and I sat up and stroked her and let her purr for a few minutes, before I picked her up and dropped her back on the floor with a soft thump.
She gave a small plaintive cry and walked back out of the room.
‘She’s jealous.’
I got out of bed.
‘Where are you going?’
I went to the window; ‘It’s raining.’
‘Let me see,’ she said.
I drew open the curtains and then climbed back in beside her and she backed into my arms and we lay together watching the rain.

The twilight and the sound of the rain on the glass and the glow of the streetlights seemed to focus on us. On this moment.

She shuddered.
‘Alright?’ I asked.
‘Just thinking.’
‘You think too much,’ I told her.
‘Mmm,’ she said. I stroked her thigh and felt the goosebumps rise when I kissed the back of her neck.
‘Will you write about me?’ she whispered.
‘Probably,’ I murmured, my lips brushing the fine hairs at the nape of her neck.
‘But you won’t mention…?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t mention that.’

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