Ancient battlegrounds

I sit on a sturdy yet ancient wall overlooking the gardens of Alhambra. The sun plasters itself to my skin. J stands over me, watching the couple holding hands stroll through a trellis leading into a courtyard.

He reaches for the smokes and I look up expectantly. When I’m not offered one, my feelings are confirmed.
“Is something wrong?”
He snatches at the lighter. “You tell me.” The cigarette dangles from his lips.
“Is this because I was in a mood?”
“Which one?”
“Whatever.”
“No. You, whatever. Fuck sake.”

The decoratively dressed security guard looks our way. ‘Fuck’ is understood no matter what language you speak.

Our holiday plays in my mind like a Power point presentation. The 24 hour sex. His socks all over the hotel room. The constant feeling of annoyance I couldn't place. His orbiting me constantly, excited by the sights and sounds like a toddler.

Happiness is getting exactly what you think you want.

I burst into tears. The sun dries them instantly.

He shakes his head, sits next to me and wraps me in his arms. “Sometimes, you just need to say what’s on your mind,” he says.

I consider saying that he should know, even when I don’t.
I want to scream, I never want to leave this!
I think about us laughing late into the night on the beach sharing a bottle of Rioja.
I take his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He kisses me, hard. The security guard shouts disapproval in Spanish.