It Wasn’t Love

Elli Cole

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

They exchanged those words with such passion and need that if any other person heard them, they would think they were in love. But the couple knew better—they didn’t think it was love. It was a preposterous thought for them. Love was a weakness and they knew they controlled themselves well.

“I make you feel,” he whispered to her as he tucked a strand away from her face. She smiled at him. “And I will make you mine.”

She would thrash underneath his body at night and cry out his name. Her sweat-covered flesh would slide against his and she would arch her back in the feel of his skin. Her nails would graze his back and leave red marks in her fingers’ wake. He would growl and bury his face at the crook of her neck and breathe in her scent.

“I love how you smell.”

“I love how you feel.”

But they would never love each other.

She would kiss the tip of his nose affectionately as exhaustion almost overtook her senses. He would chuckle at her and firmly wrap his arms around her protectively. A sigh would escape her lips and she would rest her head against his chest.

“Goodnight,” she would whisper.

He would kiss her forehead in response.

There were no ‘I love you’s’ or any confessions of endearment. Because they knew, deep inside, it wasn’t love.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

It just wasn’t love.