This is what I wrote.

The man lay sprawled on the bed, propped up on his elbow, head turned towards the woman adjacent to him. His solemn eyes, weighed down by lack of sleep scanned over her limp body. An inkling of sunlight coming in through the dirty window gave the room a bit of much needed color. The bedsheets were distressed, resulting from a night of reaching for what wasn't there anymore, a night that had disentegrated from a drunken dinner date in the mountains to a conversation in the darkness whispered through the curves of soft sheets into each other's ears.
The man hadn't slept much at all. His brain was a minefield of thoughts, worries, fantasies, and memories. For the man, it felt a little like his thoughts were too disorgainized to fit in place to properly communicate what he was thinking. It was too peaceful to say anything, anyway. Even if his thoughts seemed to want to find a way out of his mind. A sharp sigh broke the early morning silence.
"What did you say?" The woman beside him asked groggily. The man, startled by her sudden actions became paranoid that perhaps his thoughts had actually found a way out of his mouth and into the still morning mountain air. He quickly dismissed the thought.
"Nothing..." He replied, his lips cracked into a soft smile.

Oooh this is fun!

A stern gaze bore into the back of Jessica's skull. She felt a strange apathetic malevolence in it, like the watcher was passing judgment. With an unnerving chill she heard a whisper, like the sound of blood rushing through your ears "I don't love her." Jessica jumped in her half slumber, arriving full force into the waking world with an uncomfortable amount of warmth, sweat, and fabric draped around her. John was looking at her with a bone chilling smile. His eyes where wide and an unnatural white.
Her mouth clung to her words as though afraid of losing them to the wind. "What did you say?"
John was observing an eagle outside the window of the cabin carrying a salmon to it's nest. Fresh caught prey. "Nothing, Jessica. Just watching."

The man surveyed the woman in his bed with absolute adoration and a sense of being profoundly distant from her. For a moment he watched the motes of dust and the almost-visible odor of stale sex pass lazily upwards through the bright yellow sunbeam burning through the curtains' crack as they escaped through the air intake.
In a minute he was engrossed, seeing in the dancing particles a whole universe of infinitely small but incomprehensibly vast randomness translating somehow into his ordered life. A new idea was looming on the horizon of his thoughts, a dread miracle of an experiment that could both disprove and validate all his and his colleagues' work simultaneously. Now it was just the vague shadow of an idea, something like a dream half-remembered in the shower, but it was approaching and threatening to overwhelm everything he, the expert, thought to be true.
"What was that, baby?" Jessica half-spoke from her sleep.
For a moment the man was terrified that she had seen the onrushing monolithic truth as well, or worse, that he had accidentally let slip a word before it could be fleshed out and, worst of all, confirmed- but no, that was absurd, of course the idea could only be in his head.
For a long, long minute he wanted to wake her up and tell her the terrible truth of her, of everyone's, of everything's foundation. So that he would not have to be alone.
"I didn't say anything, love. Go back to bed, it's Sunday." Let her sleep in peace a little while longer. One day with the accelerator and one publishing process later, she would have to wake up along with everyone else.
The man lay down close to his wife, but was unable to go back to sleep.

why did i work so hard on this?

Late morning sun shone in to the motel room from above the cheap air conditioner in the window, picking up millions of tiny dust motes hanging in the air, their negligible masses overcome by the breathing, the moving, the sweating of the man and woman below them.

His eyes moved across her naked form only thinly veiled by a translucent polyester sheet. Her long legs caused the sheet to form around them, revealing their sinewy, lean strength, their power, and the perfect smoothness of their skin. The continuous line formed by her shin bent purposefully around her knee, which stabbed up in to the air like a graceful but defiant mountain. It ran over her hamstring and on to her hips. The sheet just teasingly brushed her pelvis, barely covered her vagina, and stopped just short enough to show an inviting bit of her pubic hair. He stared in to that region, that heart of this woman, that gateway to her sex. He marveled at her hips like a prehistoric Venus figurine, the only thing in the universe capable of motherhood. That gated garden he had been allowed in to so recently, but that he had no invitation to. He had been let in through back door like a thief, and he didn't know how or why, could never repeat it. He moved up to her stomach. No bikini tan lines here, just the same shade of natural and indifferent white. The skin covered her abdominal muscles like they were hot coals just barely contained. A thin, lightly defined line in between them connected her navel to her ribcage, her beating heart, her breathing lungs, combusting, burning, moving inside of her, like her soul was on fire. No, not, just on fire, in the middle of a nuclear reaction. Hydrogen was fusing inside of her like a star, on to helium, then helium fusing in to beryllium, decaying quickly but fusing again to carbon, oxygen, neon, magnesium, on and on, producing immeasurable amounts of heat and energy. And her breasts sat atop this fusion reaction, bare, naked, unashamed, like two massive mountains barely affected by gravity. And his eyes moved on to her collar bones, the tendons in her neck and the blood vessels that transported the heat of the nuclear fusion in her chest on to her brain, her face. Her sharp, shadowed, defiant face. She always looked like she knew more than you, like she was thinking something beyond you and above you. Her dark eyes were closed now but when open they shot at you like black lasers. Her bare, makeupless face and her mid-length dark hair spread out on the sweat-stained pillow. She was like a desert landscape, pure, arid, untouchable and outside of time.

He wished he could have been touching her with his eyes the whole time. He wished he could touch her at all, really touch her. They had barely kissed, when they got the room and jumped through the door. Barely talked, barely known eachother's names. They just fucked, and he meant fucked, not had sex, not made love, fucked was the only word for it. It was dirty and meaningless and fun and distant. He was allowed in to her garden only when it was unlit and unclean. He knew he could probably never go back, and had expected her to be gone by the time he woke up. She was this perfect circle, this running, revving, infinite engine, and he was a line. A line going nowhere along an exacting and unchangeable path, entirely predictable and inescapable. And he had been allowed to be tangent to her circle just this once, this one day, intersecting at exactly one zero-dimensional point, then moving on, forever, never touching again, for his line could never bend back around. He had one dimension and she had two, three, four, so many dimensions he couldn't fathom them. He was like a plastic bag being blown around by the winds of the world, getting caught in this living, breathing sequoia of a woman for just one moment before being kicked out of her branches. Please, let me know you. Please let me touch you again, just one more time, just to know you once more. I love you. I need you. I have so much to give, so much I can be and I can't be any of it on my own. I've never met anyone or anything like you and I can never go back. But no, she was beyond him. He couldn't even say it.

"What?"

She woke up right then, with no grogginess, completely alert as if she had never slept. He hadn't said anything. He was sure he hadn't said anything. He felt uncomfortable with her nakedness, as he could now see her vagina after she had moved, seeing her show it like it was just another part of her body while to him it was so much more. He guarded his penis closely and suddenly wanted to be fully clothed, but couldn't move from her gaze.

"What? Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"I'm pretty sure you did."

Wait, shit, did I?

"Uh well then I don't know what it was."

"Mmmm-hm. Right. Whatever you say. And there's nothing you'd like to say?"

He felt way too weird now to talk. She knew.

"Uh no what the hell does that mean?"

"Well good. Fuck off, I was sleeping."

She rolled over, now showing him her back, her muscular back and her spine flowing down to her butt, her vagina just barely visi-

"Oh, and stop being such a faggot."

He had only just silenced her life a few minutes ago. Panting, his head resting on the frame of the blood-soaked bed. bedding was strewn across the also blood-soaked carpet, a sign of a struggle as sure as the steak knife lodged in his former girlfriend's back. The voices in his head had been crowding his head for so long, whispering commands into his ears, and finally he had given in to them. And instead of feeling sad at brutally murdering his girlfriend, he felt happy. Why? Because for a brief few minutes, the voices had stopped rushing about. He now knew what he had to do. He needed the precious silence.

He whips his head around to her splayed corpse.
"What did you say?" he thought she might have still been alive, that someone might have seen, that the police were already on their way. This WAS the first time he had done something like this, the possibility for error was incredible, or so the voices in his head told him. -Aah, that was it, there was no witness, she was indeed dead. It was just the voices in his mind starting up again. Paranoia recedes as he leaves her grave through the fractured doorframe. A chuckle, or a sob, (impossible to tell) escapes his lips in a remark of what his new life would be, trying to find silence from himself.

>>87
I was ABOUT to go in this direction but decided against it. It's really close to what I was gonna write too. Scary.

She mumbles something and I look over at her. I can't hear what she says. She says it again. I look into her eyes. I say speak up, speak up I can't hear you. She rolls her eyes, closes them, goes limp after a few minutes.

Wait.

She's not there is she. She can't be there because she's in the bathroom. I sent her there because she was being too noisy. I sent her there because I could think. I need my brain I need my ears I need to think if I can't think I can't do anything. So I put her in the bathroom. I told her, go to the bathroom. Maybe she's still there.

I open the door quietly, half expecting her to scold me because she was in the bathroom for some long. But why would she scold me I should scold her after all she took away my ability to think.

She's taking a bath, that's good. She should be clean and if she's taking a bath she won't be annoying me with all those words she can't say anything to me if she's behind the door in the bathroom if she's behind the curtain she can't take away my ability to think can she.

What's that sound what is it is it her again is she trying to take away my ability to think? Can she do it with that small sound? It better not be her. Oh god its her. She's making noises again. Why is she making noises I told her to stop I made her stop. Fine. Its time to make her stop again, this time more forcefully.

Why is this on the floor this should be in the kitchen why is this here is she going to use it. Oh my God she's planning something.

Oh my God she's planning to kill me with this, this knife, I knew it. She's in the bath planning to kill me with this knife. She left it on the floor here she's planning it what do I do. Oh my God what do I do. But I can't make her not. If she speaks then I can't think. And if I can't think then she kills me.

Wait.

I cut out her tongue she can't speak to me. Not any more.

But she can still make noises. That's not good enough.

I need to think.

I spied her through the small gap between the door and the doorframe, taking advantage of this rare and wonderful opportunity to observe her form without having to quickly glance away.

The sheets are twisted around her full figure, indicating a restless night. I know she pines for the return of her husband, but I am certain that will never happen.

I allow my thoughts to accelerate through ideas, fantasies, memories, possibilities, plans that I will never dare go through with, glimmers of hope quickly destroyed by the realisation of reality. I want her but not in the way that she wants me.

I'm suddenly brought back to the present by a stirring coming from the bed, and an incomprehensible murmuring. Did she just tell me to go away? Shit, she knows I'm here. She knew I was watching the whole time. She was just pretending to sleep. What shall I say?! What- Oh wait, I'm pretty sure she's asleep. She wouldn't roll over exposing her bare behind like that... Or would she.. I don't think so.

Damn I don't know. Jessica, mother I wish you felt the same way.