All my fault

Her mood rumbled, in resonance to the dark clouds outside. It had been a long night. She had just returned home, to him and to the brewing storm. The sky was an uncanny gray. The cool breeze of the previous night had slithered to a stop. The enveloping dampness was threatening to break into a million shards of rain any instant.

He lay on her lap, with his face buried in the soft, crumpled folds of her nightgown. Slowly he turned his face to look at her blank eyes. "Don't worry. Why are you so worried? It is my fault. I'll take care of it." He could see she was angry. No. More exasperated than angry perhaps. He always knew when she had... He had stopped keeping count. Counting was a very cumbersome way to love.

Why didn't he arouse her! Give her goosebumps or make her heart skip a beat? Why was the only thing he ever made her feel was an overwhelming sense of calm.

"I am..." He turned and kissed her thighs. Her voice trailed off among whispering leaves of the mango tree near the window. She hated this guilt crawling beneath her skin. She hated it.

Why didn't he ever do anything? He didn't even try! Not even once in all these years! What is he waiting for? An order? A request? Why!

"You are the laziest..."

"... of the lot. I know. The oldest, slowest, laziest... I told you it is all my fault."

Her fingers caressed his wild curls, tracing the boundary of his receding hairline. Rain broke free of misty prison of the clouds with a frenzy. Truant drops dashed on the window sill with a vengeance and orphaned droplets found their way to his cheek.

He had shown the promise of turning out like every other possessive and demanding man. But somewhere along the way, he had lost the will to possess. Maybe he felt left too far behind... at the back of the line.

Her fingers rested on his soft stomach, bubbling on the ripples of his gentle laugh. Rogue streaks of lightning lit the transparent darkness in the room. He lay there, lifeless, hugging her waist with his face hidden from the world outside. She sat there, quiet and quivering with the storm, secure in his unquestioning calm and the knowledge that it was all his fault.