Face Off

 Raising a hand, his forehead felt damp, chilled. 

This directly contradicted the fact that his cheeks felt hot, as if he had been slapped, and then slapped again for good measure.

It unnerved him how the sight of her contact lens case, lying in the medicine cabinet, cued the guilt to rise up, caustic bile.

His throat burned, and tears stung his eyes. 

He pinched his nose.

There was noise in his belly, just below his heart.

He had just showered the evening's mistakes off his skin, or so he thought, the shower having given his body somewhat of a "clean slate" feeling. 

His mind, however, was still filthy with guilt.  His heart ached in response.

What had he done?

Lovers can't lie, one to the other, even if one is out of sight, while the other's mind wanders into action. 

Somehow, there is this knowing.

There, in the medicine cabinet, were her eyes, left and right, enclosed in their ClearVue contact case. 

They boasted clear vision upon her awakening, despite their confines, now, in their plastic dual-cave with screw-on lids. 

Left and Right, she'd see and know the difference; something had come between them.

He slammed the medicine cabinet shut. 

Retreating from the master bath, he padded out into the dark hall, away from the master bedroom, where she slept, peaceful, and yet unknowing. 

He couldn't look at himself in the mirror, not another minute, and he'd never be able to face her.

 
 artwork:  "eyeshadow" by Peter Stampfli