testing… (2)

She spotted him and ran. Ran like a prisoner to freedom. Rowen. Like a rabbit escaping preydom. She ran with urgency. Rowen.
She threw her arms around him, and burst into tears in his chest. She wept and held her arms tightly around him, despite his not returning the motion. He stood, like a statue, and she wept. It bellowed forth from her insides, waterfalling across her face and down her neck, sliding beneath her shirt and between her breasts. Yes, she was trapped. Trapped into a corner by secrets and lies and betrayal and forgiveness and circumstance.
Her lips found his, her warm, pink lips, his cold and dry. She kissed him, felt inside him, searched deeply in his mouth and hers.
She knew then that it was over. That didn’t make her weep. His arms lay limp next to his body; he didn’t move a muscle or seem to breathe.
She could live in a fantasy or she could live.
She picked up her head, smoothed her shirt and hair, and picked up her saddle bag.
“Thank you,” she said, sensing his uneasiness, and left.