PMS

We had just made love and we were quiet. But there are many kinds of quiet and this was not one that felt right. Honey? I called. She was in my arms, her hair snaking down my shoulder and her face turned away from mine. I tucked my chin and tried to see her eyes. But she dug her nails into my flesh and shook her head, a tiny movement. I racked my brain and waited, hoping she would give a hint. I stroked her head and wrapped my arm more tightly around her middle. There was a moist, trickling sensation around my neck. I listened, caressing her hair. Suddenly, a deep intake of breath, and a sigh that sounded like relief to me. She wiped her cheeks across my chest, first one and then the other, evenly distributing a fine layer of salt. Then, without meeting my gaze, she got out of bed. She stepped into yesterday’s shirt, much too wide on her, and left the room. Breakfast, she called over her shoulder. I got up and followed her.