“I just don’t love you anymore,” he said, as the beaded sweat evaporated from our bare bodies.
My heart raced at his words, just as it had at his touch. I felt damaged, manipulated, outraged.
I watched him casually dress. His face wore a look of relief; his brunette burden finally lifted.
“What now?” I asked, feigning indifference.
“Not sure. Maybe travel a while and get my head straight.”
A man of his word, his arms traveled downriver. The rest of him traveled to the place where we first met. I ensured his head was straight with an unobstructed view.
This disturbing piece of prose was written for Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. The challenge was to write a 100-word story based on the photo. As always, thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge. You can check out the other stories and poems here.