The best lie

The cigarette smoke circled up from her lips in perfect rings. She lay looking blankly at the damp ceiling. She was strangely relaxed. Tired, but relaxed. He lay beside her, forbiddingly close, still covered in drying beads of sweat. He was still nauseated by the smell of smoke. He could still feel her all over.

It was good wasn't it?

Yes. It was.

It was the best ever, wasn't it?

She suddenly frowned. As if something had suddenly corrupted the perfect trance of her private blankness. The calm... Why does the calm go away as soon as he speaks.

Why must you do that every time?

Why indeed, he thought. He loved every inch of her five-foot-four frame. He knew it like he had seldom known anything else. He had seldom known anything else. Why should that matter? He knew what he had done.

What did I do! I just said that you were awesome.

She moved her legs over his. The skin on his thighs got goose-bumps. He was waiting. He had been waiting for so long that now he waited out of habit and not out of necessity. Not that it made the waiting any easier or difficult. Finally, as always, he could not wait any more.

Well?

No, it was not. It was not the best I've ever had. I've had better.

She still said it plainly enough. Without any emotion in her voice. Yet he saw the longing in her eyes. Eyes, which hidden behind a veil of smoke, belied her visible calm.

I love you.

I know.

He started humming a song.

What are you doing! Why must you sing when you can't? I can't even understand the song. Whose song is this?

Mine.

Yours!!

She laughed out loud. He smiled. A smile of complete surrender. This is how it must stay. This was the truth. He loved her too much to let this matter. All his pretensions of calm did not matter. His slighted pride did not matter. His attempts at being a man did not matter.

Are you happy with me?

She looked at him. A look of immense kindness. Her lips quivered, but the words did not fall out. She reached out and pressed his hand.

Tell me the truth. Please.

She lifted his hand to her lips. She could smell his sweat. She could smell his fear. She wanted to comfort him. Yet. His love for her was as truthful as he claimed it to be. She knew. She was happy for him. He had found her. His truth.

The truth? The truth is that I am happy. The truth is that you are a good man. The truth is that you are my best lie. My very best.