She looked at her hands, unwilling to reply. She listened to the silence, to him crossing his legs, waiting for her. She closed her eyes, breathing hard. She did not want to answer. Not because she didn't had a reply, but because she didn't want to hurt him; in the same time as it was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to suffer, now, a little, just to teach a lesson, just enough for her to leave with the upper hand. But she didn't want to rob him of all he was, and leave him dying. Most of all, she wanted to force him to ask one more time.
He crumpled his lips in annoyance. He knew what she was doing. Oh, yes, he knew. For some reason she always placed herself as an underdog, like he had ever insisted on being the big dog. Who said women were complicated? She wanted him to ask why once again. Then she would tell him what she thought of him, aiming at where he was most vulnerable with the intend to hurt him. She needed to do that from time to time. It made her feel stronger. To win always made you feel stronger, and God he wanted her to win. He wanted her to feel strong. How he wished that she could understand that she was strong, without fighting.
"I love you" he said, suddenly.