Tricked.

I laid there, curled into a ball together with the duvet. You sat at the corner, looking lost. I was crying. You were sighing.

You came over, gave me a hug, and carassed me all over. I pushed you away with repulse.

You sighed again, and moved slowly away.

I kept crying.

You put on your clothes, and washed your face and sat back on the bed.

I kept ignoring you.

I could see you moving at the corner of my eye. I peered into the mirror in front of me to spy on you.

You took my eyelash curler and fiddled with it. Then to my horror, you took off your glasses and tried to curl your eyelash.

I let out a little chuckle despite my great boiling anger. Perhaps you didn't hear me laugh. I remained under the duvet like a bug, unmoved.

Slowly, you tried to experiment with the eyelash curler. Finally you decided that it was time your virgin eyelash met its fate.

You put the curler against your lids and crimped it. You winced as you accidently caught your skin between the curler instead of your lash.

This time I chuckled slightly louder because it was great looking at you in pain. I didn't think you'd risk anything doing with your eye because you were even afraid of a finger near it, let alone an eyelash curler.

Maybe you heard me laugh, maybe you didn't. But you continued trying to curl your lashes.

Then suddenly, you poked yourself with it. I wasn't sure if it was by accident, or on purpose.

You covered your eye with your palms and bent forward and started crying out in pain.

I, of course, leaped to you side to make sure you were ok, having disregards to my anger and discontent.

It took me a minute to pry open your hands between your sobs, only to find that you were snickering to know I still cared.

YOU cunning bastard.