Cleo clasped her hands together on the table, cigarette dangling from her lips. She stared longingly into Maie's eyes.
"You are a good person, though. I can tell these things after years of watching people come and go: there are people who can open their hearts and people who can't. You're one of the ones who can't."
Maie adjusts her slouch, matching her spine to the back of her chair.
"What do you know?" Maie said softly, squinting her eyes ever so slightly. Without pulling her fixated eyes from Cleo, she reached for the almost burnt-out cigarette from Cleo's lips. The intense exchange broke as soon as the cigarette ash hit the table -- they both looked down, watching the ash flicker in and out, until it finally settled on its own.
"I suppose you're right," Maie admits. She couldn't look up again.
"I never understood you, I couldn't figure you out. But once I noticed... if I never approached you, do you think this would have even happened?"
"I --" Maie hesitated.
"One minute you're telling me things you say you've never told anyone else..." Cleo's voice loudened and her speech quickened. "The next I want you to say more, but you never do. And... and you come on so strong, then you sort of pull back." her voice starts tremble.
"I'm frustrated, Maie. I don't know what to expect from you anymore."