it was nothing, really

I don't care too much for this, she said.
I don't care too much for anything.

A moment of hesitation slipped through her carefully crafted
air of debonaire.
He saw through her.

She woke up the next afternoon
with his hand imprinted on her back; it hurt.
It always did.

He didn't care too much for that.
He didn't care too much for anything.