“Can you not be cryptic?” Her exasperated tone began to betray the outward calm she was emanating.
“Would you rather I discuss the concupiscent expression as portrayed by your flushed cheeks, or would you rather I discuss how that look was not brought about by yours truly but an unknown?” He seemed almost smug as he finished. It was almost as if he had pulled a rabbit out of a hat. The thought made him chuckle, inwardly.
She groaned imperceptibly and launched into a tirade chastising him for his lack of faith and trust in her. For the first time that evening he turned and looked at her. Cold, calculated mirth radiated off him.
“Trust?” He spat. “Trust. Trust is sometimes just a word, a commodity if you will, that is bought and sold to the highest bidder.”
She shuddered as he continued; “Words do not only exist according to their dictionary definition. They are shaped by the way they roll of one’s tongue and similarly, they are defined by the user. Trust. Do not brandish that word as a defensive weapon, unless you wish to be cut down by its sharp edges.”
She threw her hands up in despair, confusion and weariness obliterated her guarded expression. He remained frozen, statue like and they stared at each other, communicating silently but not receiving each other’s messages.