“Did he, like, *make* you do it? Did he tie you up or something? That’s really gross!” I ignored all but one question. “Love…?” Who *would* have always loved him and been faithful? I wasn’t a faithful woman, quite the opposite, in fact. I had slept with several dozen men for varying reasons, and I had betrayed every one of them. Other than my father and my daughter, I didn’t believe I had ever loved anyone. My mother had died from complications of pregnancy just before I had been born. In a sense I had killed her. I had been taken from her dead body by Caesarian section, so I had never known her, either to love or to despise. Perhaps that was why I didn’t have much to say to other women. Certainly I hadn’t loved my husband. It hadn’t cost me much emotion to shoot him, and less to shoot my lover, who had been his best friend. Both relationships had been matters of convenience alone. “Love defined how? Sex? Devotion? Sacrifice?” “How should I know? The whole thing’s gross and weird. Next morning I was unable to face her. She has not opened her door. So I waited till afternoon and went and knocked the door. She opened the door and went in. I followed her and said sorry for what has happened yesterday. I don’t know what I was doing yesterday and touched her feet with apologize. She asked me to get up and I did. I asked her do you love me. She said I am unable to express my feeling towards you. I can’t say whether I like you or not. I am not getting angry on you for what you did yesterday. There was silence for 2 minutes and she said leave that matter. She asked me to sit down and asked me whether I had lunch or not. I said no. I was unable to have anything with out seeing you. She said wait for 30 minutes I will prepare dinner for you. I said ok and she was preparing and I was watching her from hall and she knew that I was watching her. After 5 minutes she asked me to come to the kitchen and asked me to talk with her as she was feeling boring. I talked about all.
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