Boy shaped cello.

-          Pick me up, you know this song.

So she kept him clenched between her thighs like a cello, her fingers curling in the nape of his neck like she was holding a tune, the other making scratches on the small of his back. Her muscles clenching, teeth grinding. Her tears are already making a small puddle on his collarbone while she screams that it never stops, he softly shushes her.

-          Screw the lyrics, hum along.

And later he’s making one of his silly jokes and she laughs into the pillow calling him her silly man. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheek, telling her it’ll be alright and she scoffs and say of course it will, it just doesn’t seem like it right now. He does the dishes and she paints her nails while singing along to a song he doesn’t like.

-          Move your fingers, you know how.

Later she’s lying in their bed listening to his breathing, her mind unwilling to calm. She’s tracing her fingertips down his shoulders and leaning her cheek to the place where his back curves outwards slightly. Closing her eyes she thinks maybe it’s cruel to lie and say that everything will be fine, but she needs the lies more than he does and she also needs to sleep. So she closes her eyes and tries to synchronise her breaths.

-          pick me up, I don’t know how .