Prepared to Lose

“What are you prepared to lose?” she asks, like a gunshot, shadows creeping across her face. There is nothing innocent about the question or about her. This is every part of who she is.

“Honestly, I haven't thought about it much,” he replies while mulling the question over in his mind and wishing they were elsewhere.

“Honestly, you should.”

Her vocabulary consists exclusively of accusations. She advances, but never retreats. Well, there was that one time, but she scarcely admits that to herself let alone to anyone else.

She'd been stuck in a strange part of town. The end of the proverbial and literal road, where lights faded and horses emerged. Dirt and sagebrush. Dilapidated barns behind rusted wire.

Not even town, really, just a place out of time. Or a time out of place, it was hard to say which. Either way it had rattled her as few things in life do. That was the first time she'd seriously considered the question that she asked him now.

What had she been prepared to lose? At first, nothing. Then, as it became clear that she would not soon escape the strangeness, everything. And in the end, that's exactly what she lost. Everything.

But she hadn't thought about that in a long time, didn't care to revisit it. Still, it was always in the back of her mind and informed her accusations, which she returned to now.

“What are you prepared to lose?”

He studies her face for clues. She offers only a blank slate, yields nothing. The shadows that creep across it don't help, but even without those, she's impossible to read. She prides herself on this, which he knows, which she also prides herself on.

“I'm prepared to lose you,” he says, closing his eyes.