we need to talk - a short story
He told me we needed to talk.
He told me in a hushed, nervous tounge that was unfamiliar to me. All I could make of all of this was that his dismissal was not intierly effortless. His hands shook, he perched his narrow body on the edge of our recently ravaged bed. I stared hard at the floor, at the fading amythist paint on our bedside table. I inspected each chipped red fingernail-deciding wich one to bite; anything to distract me.
He spoke in a timed, deliberate fashion. I could only assume that every word had been passed by inside his head at least twenty times, logged away and then regergatated. I imaginged him rehearsing infront of the mirror in his new girlfriends bathroom. I imagined him setting her bare bottom on the formica counter top, her waspy legs tied around his waist. I think he got to feeling guilty staring into that mirror at the back of her head, her bare arching back.
He knew I was thinking. I threw him off. He forgot his lines. He mumbled something like an appology while I curled and uncurled my toes. I cocked my head to the side ( what used to be my come hither stare) to stare at the orchids tired and wilting on the window cill. My eye caught a raindrop hit the cold glass of the window and I flinched. I stayed motionless in a trap I was sure he had set for me. I had seen it comming on the first day I kissed you. This devistation was inevitable. I am just so fucking good at ignoring the obvious. I stared at him, at his lips that were shaking.
He adjusted his stance, turning his body gingerly, to face me. I could tell that he wanted to hold my hand, he wanted to me to say that I understood, that it was alright. " didnt you see that this was comming?" He was breathing on me, I could smell that he had to drink up the courage to say goodbye. I got up and padded across our bedroom. I took the keys of the dresser and walked out of the room, down the poorly lit hall and out through the heavy oak door at the boddom of the stairs.
The rain had begun to fall like fat petals of mercury and was collecting in silver ponds beneath my bare feet. I let the rain ruin my makeup, mess up my hair, I didnt care. I watched the waterline rise inside an empty flower pot, I breifly noted the inconsistancy of the rain and love before taking off into full throttle, my pale skinny legs beating the wet pavement furiously.
He told me we needed to talk.
He told me in a hushed, nervous tounge that was unfamiliar to me. All I could make of all of this was that his dismissal was not intierly effortless. His hands shook, he perched his narrow body on the edge of our recently ravaged bed. I stared hard at the floor, at the fading amythist paint on our bedside table. I inspected each chipped red fingernail-deciding wich one to bite; anything to distract me.
He spoke in a timed, deliberate fashion. I could only assume that every word had been passed by inside his head at least twenty times, logged away and then regergatated. I imaginged him rehearsing infront of the mirror in his new girlfriends bathroom. I imagined him setting her bare bottom on the formica counter top, her waspy legs tied around his waist. I think he got to feeling guilty staring into that mirror at the back of her head, her bare arching back.
He knew I was thinking. I threw him off. He forgot his lines. He mumbled something like an appology while I curled and uncurled my toes. I cocked my head to the side ( what used to be my come hither stare) to stare at the orchids tired and wilting on the window cill. My eye caught a raindrop hit the cold glass of the window and I flinched. I stayed motionless in a trap I was sure he had set for me. I had seen it comming on the first day I kissed you. This devistation was inevitable. I am just so fucking good at ignoring the obvious. I stared at him, at his lips that were shaking.
He adjusted his stance, turning his body gingerly, to face me. I could tell that he wanted to hold my hand, he wanted to me to say that I understood, that it was alright. " didnt you see that this was comming?" He was breathing on me, I could smell that he had to drink up the courage to say goodbye. I got up and padded across our bedroom. I took the keys of the dresser and walked out of the room, down the poorly lit hall and out through the heavy oak door at the boddom of the stairs.
The rain had begun to fall like fat petals of mercury and was collecting in silver ponds beneath my bare feet. I let the rain ruin my makeup, mess up my hair, I didnt care. I watched the waterline rise inside an empty flower pot, I breifly noted the inconsistancy of the rain and love before taking off into full throttle, my pale skinny legs beating the wet pavement furiously.
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lil pin-ups and odd webcomics here at giraffesonstilts i aspire to fantasy painting but i suck at it so far