Arctic sucker punch

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Don´t ask a question if you can´t handle the answer.

Submitted: August 03, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 03, 2017



Someone once told me, not to ask a question, if I couldn`t handle the answer.

Wise words from a not so wise man.

>>Did you fuck him?<< I ask.

>>I still do.<< She says.

An arctic sucker punch forces the breath out of my lungs. The ice cold fist freezes my guts, pushes through, breaks my spine. Feels like getting electrocuted and shot in the face with a twelve gauge shotgun at the same time. A splitsecond of sharp excruciating pain that lets my heart skip a beat.

She couldn`t have hit me harder if she had hit me with a brick.

I nod silently. I understand.

>>It just happened.<< She tries to convince me, maybe she tries to convince herself.

>>Do you love him?<< A not so rethorical question nowadays.

>>Don´t know. I think so.<<

It doesn´t hurt. Not enough for the pain to be real. Just a numb punch in the darkness after the K.O. Cutting your finger on paper doesn´t hurt after you just crushed your shinbone to an open fracture.

I see myself puzzling together the shards of a broken girl.

Some parts will be missing, some parts will not fit in anymore.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe next month, maybe in a year, or two, or five.

A lot of maybe and or.

Shit will hit the fan, guaranteed. And I´ve got a front row center seat for the show.

This is not a IF question, it´s a WHEN question. Sonner or later.

She is my best friend. I´ve seen her at her best, I´ve seen her at her worst. I´ve seen her crying, I´ve seen her laughing. She slept on my couch when things at home turned from bad to worse to an epic shitfest. She has seen me projectile vomit burbon at 2pm on a wednesday. She picked me up from puddles of my own puke and someone elses blood. There have been times when I had to force her to eat at least once a day and to sleep at least every second day. When she rushed me to ER after I picked a fight and someone pulled a knife.

Don´t ask a question, if you can´t handle the answer.

I never wanted to fuck her, but I´ve spend some time imagining it.

She is hot. A woman that every man turns around just to catch a look. Pretty even without make-up. Long red hair that falls like silk, irish green eyes, the body of a high permormance athlete, her skin has the tone of suntoasted paleness.

She is my best friend. I never had a doubt that she will find someone to share her life with. I never had the illusion that this someone would be me.

She is my friend, my dude, my best man born without a penis.

Strange that it hurts so god damn much that someone I don´t want to fuck, is getting fucked by someone else. My best buddy. This independent, strong, fragile, emotional unballanced little human, that made my life a little less of a clusterfuck just by being there.

>>Yeah,<< I ball my fingers to a fist. My knuckles turn white and my fingernail bite into my palms. >>put two people into a room and they will fuck someday.<<

I release my fist before my fingernails cut into my flesh. Feels like I ripped a muscle or two.

>>Wait a second.<< I finish my beer. A half a liter in eleven an a half seconds. A new record. Crushed the old one.

>>So?<< Her voice sounds scarred, clueless, afraid. >>How are we gonna handle this?<<

I close my eyes and tap my head, where the spine and the skull connect. The sound of skin hitting skin. Like I want to force an engine to start.

>>There is nothing to handle. You both are adults and whatever two consenting adults do with each other is up to them. I don´t point fingers and I don´t judge. It´s not to me to put a moral price tag on what you do.<<

Yeah, because I am a fucking great moral example.

>>So, we still are friends?<<

>>We will forever be friends. No matter what.<<

>>I was afraid you´d kick me out. Out of your house and out of your life.<<

>>What am I supposed to do?<< I ask. >>Throw away almost ten years of a caring and loyal friendship to one of the few important people in my life, just because you fuck someone? You had boyfriends before and you have kind of a boyfriend now, I guess.<<

I never saw her as a woman who actually performs the physical act of sex.

We´ve talked about it now and then. I guess she never saw me as a fucker either. I never saw her as someone getting fucked. And visa versa.

Women have sex. Men have sex. Men and women have sex with each other.

Women have sex with women, what is kind of hot.

Men have sex with men, what is kind of disgusting.

I open my fridge, fish out a new can and crack open my second beer this evening.

>>You really thought I´d kick you out? After all the shit we´ve been through together?<<

She nods, slowly and sure. As if this would have been a valid option. It never was, it is not, it will never be. She is my friend, not my possesion. She can do what ever the fuck she wants without asking for my permission.

And now she is sitting here, in a dirty old home depot discount chair, eyes closed, hands folded, awaiting my reaction.

My reaction is a vomit flavoured cocktail of surprise, anger and the realization that her pussy isn´t just a body part made to be covered by clothing.

>>I will not let a dick destroy our friendship.<<

She smiles and pushes her breath out of her nose. A two percent laughter. Two percent more than she expected.

>>You are okay with it?<<

>>Yeah sure, I mean it´s your decision in the end. Not my circus, not my monkeys.<<

What else can I do but to take that backpack full of shit from her?

She didn´t make it easy for herself. Telling me was incredibly hard, almost impossible.

For me it was a high voltage electrocution combined with a point blank shotgun blast. A quick instand death. For her it was getting skinned alive with a rusty dull blade while being whipped with a bycicle chain. Slow and painfull.

We are to different to ever be a couple. Even if you ignore all those stupid little differences, we carry to much of each others emotioal, psychological ballast to ever be more than just friends. We shared out best times, and we shared our worst times, as friends. I don´t want to change this. It´s out of my reach anyway.

But why does it fucking hurt so much?

Her phone rings. 90s pop resampled by some modern artist.

>>It´s him.<< She smiles and picks up the phone. The display shows his face. Smiling, happy.

>>Do you mind?<< She pushes herself out of the chair to leave the room and answer the call.

>>Naw,<< I fake a yawn. >>need to take a piss anyways.<<

Surprisingly I really take a piss while she talks into her phone.

>>He wants to meet.<< She says as I come back from the bathroom and close the door behind me.

I take the last cigarette out of the pack, light it, inhale deep.

>>He wants to fuck.<< Spoken out thought. Honesty can be a bitch at times.

>>Most likely, yes.<<

I nod with the cigarette between my lips, tired and empty. Ring the bell, I´m out.

>>Just let me finish my smoke before you go.<<

Six silent, unpleasent minutes later her car rolls down my driveway. I smile and wave as she leaves for the date. I want to puke and destroy something at the same moment. It´s gonna be a one man Youtube evening for me.

Lucky me, I´ve got a fridge full of beer, three boxes of cigarettes and a high speed internet connection.

And a wallsafe full of military grade guns.

Lucky. Fucking. Me.

© Copyright 2018 matt dogg. All rights reserved.

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