I looked at him, terror knotting my innards. For some reason I thought he was going to hit me. He never had before, but I thought he would then.
He didn’t though. He hugged me, which was even more surprising. He’s not affectionate. I can count the times he’s touched me like that on my fingers. It was to calm me down after a fight or something; never for no reason.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, a pleading tone to his voice. “There’s no reason to be scared of me.”
I’d never heard him talk like that. His voice is usually almost expressionless. It’s hard to tell what he’s really saying. There’s no…subtext to his words. Maybe he was drunker than I thought.
After several minutes, he let me go. He stood up, taking his wine with him. He stumbled a little as he crossed to the bed, kicking off his boots before he lay down. He cradled the bottle in his arms. I stayed where I was, watching, waiting, wondering what he might do next. But he didn’t do anything. He fell asleep.
Can you think of a better ending?