I Am The Idiot Again

"If you were lying and you told me, don't you think I'd be more forgiving?"
"I'm not lying."
Her vacant stare, phone pressed hard against the shell of her ear, gazed over at the television screen, the same scene on pause for the last twenty minutes. 'When did life get this hard?' If you could call it thought process, this was what ran unendingly through her grief-softened mind.
"Are you sure?"
Silence.
"Not flirting with any other girls? Didn't sleep with your ex-girlfriend the thursday before we went camping?" Thought process that should have been verbalized, 'The weekend that I slept with you because I thought I could trust you by now. Did you realize that the girl you were responding to on that dating site was me? That I know, even though I'm sure I knew before, that you've lied, are lying, will lie?'
"No."
"Okay. I just feel that you are, and I shouldn't feel that way after so much time spent together. But I do. So... fuck this is hard." At least that was true. "If there's anything you want to say, I guess now would be the time to say it."
His pause, painfully short, and then, "Nothing. I don't know what to say."
"Okay, well, I guess maybe we can be friends, go riding sometime," The words sounded painful, even to her, when she knew they were coming from her own mouth.
He didn't say a word to that. She couldn't begin to guess, didn't even try to think about what would be running through his mind at this sudden turn of events. Shell shocked, these things happen so quickly. Strong as steel one minute, over the next.
"Well, goodnight," She didn't want to end the conversation this way, wanted a full confession, wanted begging, pleading, empty promises, vindication of any sort, but a mumbled 'goodnight' was all she could manage before her fingers fumbled for the 'end call' and the phone slipped from her now-trembling grasp.
The tears that hadn't come in so long came now. They didn't feel good, not like the cleansing people describe, the feeling she'd imagined she would have when they came again. The twisting in her stomach, the aching of her chest, the hopeless despair that clawed somewhere between her throat and her mind, those she remembered, and they came faithfully.
With tears still falling, she made the slow, defeated walk to her laptop, logged on to the dating site dismally. A short note, nothing bitter, nothing harsh, still attracted no matter the situation, still not willing to close off an avenue, to burn any bridge completely, letting him know in no uncertain terms not to bother calling her again, that he was caught in his lie and that was that. Sent, profile deleted, as good an end as any.
What happens next? He'll be relieved. He'll take her advice and he won't call. He'll move on quickly and forget. Hell, the moment his head touches the pillow tonight, her face will be faded already.
She'll wait at the end of all of the bridges she should have sent up in smoke.
And she'll hope.