She buries her face in his chest, the music of his heartbeat's all she needs. He presses her head closer to imprint the scent of her shampoo on his shirt.
She feels so lucky. She forgets their daytime tension, the hesitant words that come in sputters, all the uncertainties, wondering what he's keeping to himself when he doesn't say he loves her back. Maybe this is the end of all that unnecessary tumult called insecurity. She knows he needs her too. She hugs him tighter. She knows, and with that knowledge things are going to be okay.
A day and a night later and she's waiting. Waiting.
She realises things haven't changed. Why should they?
She's sick of this roller coaster - it's been a year of his roller coasters and it's about time the carriage stopped making sudden horrible drops ever so often. When the carriage slowed to a halt she thought she'd finally be able to hop off, but it suddenly jerked alive again, going up, up, up, up
so high she nearly forgot that the down always follows