My 3WW for this week is short and sweet (excuse the cliche).
Jackson chewed the raw chicken, did not grimace once. Bethany could not believe he took the joke so seriously. All she wanted was for him to say, no, I won't do it. But Jackson never said no; at least not to her. He held hope, gripped it in his sweaty palm and wrung it breathless. She held hope too, but caressed it, nurtured it—her hope embodied his surrender. Love conquered nothing, except for ill-conceived notions of two-dimensional greeting-card sentiments. Jackson believed those dimensions—the remedy for unrequited love dwelt inside the definition of "unconditional." Her leverage became his demise. If only he could understand; love-sick did not want a cure.