A/N Written sight unseen.

If I don't open my eyes, it's not happening.

The morning, that is.

The moment when he has to leave.

The bit where the pain begins again.

If I just lie here, I can pretend his slow steady breaths are the sound of the clock ticking backwards; giving me a chance to relive us being us again.

If I play dead, I can "accidentally "fall against his chest and press my ear over his heartspace, rocking gently to the thump, thump, thump that thrums gently,

just below the surface.

Calming me down, as always, again.

If I wrap my legs around his, he will have to fight to escape.

He'll have to prise my fingers out from underneath his waistband.

Away from the heat that they now call home.

Away from him, who I now call home, again.

If I don't turn my head, I won't see the door shut behind him.

I won't see his shoulders slip through the crack between my soul and my reality tv hole- of- a- life.

If I fake it, then my heart won't break again.

If only.