The wine glass shatters on the edge of the counter and glass sprays everywhere. She stands there in the puddle of merlot, little drops staining her dress, running over her skin. He winces at the sound and then watches her warily, tensed like a cat ready to spring. She drops chin to her chest and stares at the ground for a long while, heaving, her chest moving rapidly with the force of her breath. When she looks up at him, their eyes lock, and he knows without a doubt that this is going to be a moment he regrets for the rest of his life.
"I don't love you anymore," he says firmly.
Her laugh is so bitter it makes his blood curdle. He swallows roughly around the lump in his throat.
"It's cute that you think that," she says softly. "I don't think the problem is that you don't love me, though."
"What's the problem then?"
"We're no good for each other," she tells him. He swallows again as she rounds the counter, slinking toward him in the dimly-lit condo. "We fuck and we fight and we tear each other to pieces every day." She stops less than a foot from him and runs a finger up his chest, red-lacquered nail catching on every button of his shirt. "Why do we do that, darling? Is it because we don't love each other?"
"Look, you have to see--"
"That we're poisonous?" she asks. Her head tilts to the side and she smiles, small and coy. He shivers, not in an entirely unpleasant way. "You love me, and it makes you hate yourself."
"You don't know anything about me or my feelings," he grits out. His voice is shaking and he's breathing hard, but the pounding in his heart sets him off more than anything. She's right and he knows she's right, and he's so, so angry about it.
"I love you," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him, "because I hate myself." She pulls back and drags her thumb over his mouth, erasing smudges of red with her skin. "Do you see the difference, darling?"
He watches her for a long, tense moment, hands clenched into fists at his sides. She stares at him with big, beautiful doe eyes and it hurts to look at her because she's so beautiful. She's so lovely. And yet-- here they are, night after night, no matter how hard he tries to make things good for them.
"I see the difference," he whispers.
"Good," she replies. She smiles, wide and bright and sudden. "Shall we have dessert, then?"