His Tinted Retro Blue Aviator Sunglasses caught the glow of the streetlights, lenses flashing like a secret he refused to share. She leaned on him, then pushed away, her eyes locked on his. He looked down, refusing her gaze.
Her pretty features, usually lit with mischief, sagged with worry. He stayed expressionless.
Two policemen passed, voices raised on purpose: “It’s late. Go home!”
Neither of them moved.
She bit her lip raw. He reached for her chest, hesitated. She grabbed his hand, pressed it against herself, as if his warmth could hold him there. His voice came flat:
“You’re cold.”
But she felt no safety. Her heart pounded with fear, not desire. Tears blurred her eyes. “You… think of something.”
“What can I think of? You don’t understand anything.”
The words broke her. She shoved his hand away, wiping at her face, furious with herself for crying.
He sneered. “That night, too many people, too much drinking. How could you know it was me? Go on, tell it. See who believes you.”
Her breath caught. She rose unsteadily, backing away, trying to keep him in sight through the haze. The memory of that night spun in her like a storm, the angry woman, the towering figure, those hands that stripped her defenses with terrifying ease. No matter how she fought, her body betrayed her. That was how she ended up with a man in her life and with the outcome that followed.
She wanted an answer, a way out. But his indifference crushed every thought before it could form. He had always been two steps ahead, and she, foolish, blind, had never seen it.
Her breath hitched. She stumbled backward, nearly into the policemen. Her legs shook; each step cost her everything. She thought he called after her, but she didn’t turn.
When she was gone, he stretched, smirked, and muttered, “Stupid.”
The ones who call others foolish always think they’re clever. And he was clever.
No melodrama followed. No suicide, no revenge. Just an ordinary man, an ordinary woman.
Years later, she might bury it, or she might confess to another man.
Years later, he would brag to another woman.
And maybe, under some other streetlight, those tinted retro blue aviator sunglasses would flash again, keeping his secret in their lenses.
