I'm fine.

She never liked chocolate.

And yet, here was Wilson's beaming smile, crouched over a nauseatingly excessive amount of billowy, mahogany frosting. An isolated candle with a red flame flaring through the shadowy living room.

She peered down at her wrist for the time. Midnight. Another year wasted. Another year of atrophied dreams and fractionally accomplished goals. And all she had to show for it now was another saccharine chocolate cake.

"Blow out the candle, babe."

"You're not going to sing this time, are you?"

"Not after last year's scolding."

She dryly chuckled. That was fair.

She stared at the ember over the bed of brown sludge for a moment, her face crestfallen.

"...Do you want it?" with a look of polite apology.

Wilson cocked his head to one side as he furrowed his brow.

"Seriously? You don't want it?" His defeat shattering his previous demeanor.

She shrugged apathetically. "Too sweet for me."

With a despairing sigh, his head dropped with the weight of a bowling ball.

“Can you at least blow out the candle?” he asked exhaustedly, no longer masking his apparent disgruntlement. Any previous excitement he had to give was now completely wasted.

And so she does.

One shaky breath. Forced and unsteady through the darkness to further create even more darkness.

The flame withered for a moment until it collapsed into a wisp of weaving smoke piling higher towards the ceiling.

Wilson went into the other room, flicked a switch to turn the lights back on, and grabbed a dull knife from a drawer to cut the cake to pieces. The cocoa fragrance wafted through both rooms as he sliced into it. If she had not wanted to eat the cake before, any chance of appeasing him with the aroma drifting through both rooms had faded. Even the smell was too much for her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, making another short cut into the sugar-coated fluff that was too large for two people.

“I’m fine.”

A lie. A deception that both of them could see through with all of the transparency of freshly cleaned glass. And yet, it was always easier to use this hollow phrase. For anything else would require explanation, time, yearning, motivation, a willingness to plunge themselves headfirst into the deep-end knowing full-well that their chance of coming up for air may vanquish.

No. Too much trouble. Too much effort. Too much conflict. It was far simpler to send the uncomfortable into another realm where that discomfort didn’t exist.

“…I think I want to go for a walk. Get some fresh air.”

He peered at her, the concern growing more apparent by the moment.

“Now?” he said with obvious bewilderment.

She grew quiet.

Another impatient sigh from Wilson. “Can you at least bring a flashlight or something?”

“It’ll be fine.”

“There’s not even street lamps.”

“I know. It’ll be okay. I won’t go far.”

And with a furtive glance, he stared at her, analyzing with a look that was both disparaging and apprehensive.

“…Did I do something to piss you off or something?”

“No. Just—another year, you know?”

Dejection overwhelmed his face. Another lie. Another wound cut open that lay vulnerable to infection.

He turned his gaze against the backsplash above the low-lying ceramic sink, grasping the edges of the basin for support.

“Okay,” was the most he could muster as she turned on her heel down the hallway.

She grabbed her military green jacket before turning the metal handle and threw it over her arm to carry it.

With the briefest hesitation, she turned and glanced back at him.

“Enjoy the cake,” she said with a smile that didn’t convey sincerity as she opened the door.

And so she left.

Wilson hovered over the monstrosity of cloying bakery that was pierced into several small uniform squares, picked it up by its base, and tossed its entirety into the trash.

The cake’s sweetness was no longer appetizing to him either.