The Pianist and the Author

Beatrice why did you do this?

"Did you...? DID YOU READ THIS????" She cried out. Violently, she pushes the papers back into her purse.

"Beatrice... Why did you read these? I told you not to read any of my works... Beatrice, I trusted you, why... Why did you?" There are vivid tears in her swelling eyes.

I am confused. Why should she be so secretive of her works? It's not like they were erotic or terrifying. Plus they weren't that bad, they were rather entertaining.

Anger and impatience started to fill up in me. Why was it so bad that someone, more particularly, I, read her precious texts? Why wouldn't she let me? Her secrecy was starting to annoy me just a little bit.

"Why don't you want me to read your stories? Don't you love me?" I lashed out furiously, sick of being held in the dark.

"It's... it's my private matter... I... I..." she fumbld with her words.

"Tell me! Why the bloody hell is it such a big bloody deal? The first time, you smashed your computer against my fingers, and I thought it was just because we didn't know each other enough. The second time, you nearly threw your books out of the bloody window just so I didn't read them. I decided maybe you weren't too ready. The third time, you stomped, practically on my hands, on the papers you had printed, and I apologized and you said that maybe later... Later what? When? I thought now was okay. I thought we were over that, come on!!! We've seen each other naked!! We've slept together!! Bloody hell, you even BATHED me!!! What is there to hide?" I exploded.

Samantha gazes up to me, tears flowing out slowly.

"If you lived my life..." she whispered, and left me, the blanket and my purse.

Why... Why had it ended like this... I wanted a nice vacation, with my love. What was wrong with her?

Short summary of our evening: I ate supper with a cute lifeguard while Samantha went up early, without eating. Our plans for the hot springs were cancelled.

And we slept in separate beds.