"I'm sick of it," wailed the girl with wide-set eyes as she tossed her radiantly red rose to the side.

His solemn figure took two steps back. In a state of precaution, he asked, "Why?"

"Pretending to be in love," she scowled. "The pretense of holding someone's hand when every guy is just wondering when he can hold my head down next..."

He pursed his lips, watching her intently. He sighed. "…Didn't you like the rose?"

"It was never about the rose. It was about you lying to me," she responded.

"I did what I was supposed to," he glared.

"That never meant you wanted to." She turned, beginning to walk away from him and his adornments.

His solemn figure sagged as he...