I couldn't look him in the eye for another second. The bustle of the restaurant sort of melted into nothing as the intensity of his gaze burned right through me. I looked around quickly, sighed, and then stared at the way he held my hand across the table top.
"I don't even know what to say right now." An exasperated sigh exploded from between his lips as he sat back in his chair, put his head back and closed his eyes. It was the death of something and I'd known it was dying but he did not. The shock was starting to land. His grip felt loose. There was once an almost visible arc of electricity between us when we touched, but now all I felt was skin.
I watched as in slow motion, I pulled my hand from his grasp, and slid it toward me. It felt like shame when I put it in my lap, under the table. Like my hand wasn't worthy of being in public, being so shamefully attached to the person who hurt him like this.
His eyes flew open as my hand slipped from his. He watched it too, his breath growing shallow. It was like watching a chasm grow between us, before our very eyes.
