"You don't care about me at all do you? Do you!?" his vacant stare and apathetic movement towards the fridge are the only substantial evidence she has to support this accusation. Once he gets his food, returns to the chair he was sitting in, this is when she allows herself to fully cry. ""You asshole." she almost inaudibly expresses. "You fucking asshole !!" there is no longer mystry of inaudibility at this point. "I fucking gave my whole life to you, without question and this is what I get? Sorry I come off as this stereotypical womanly cliche but what the fuck were you thinking throughout this god fucking year in a half?! Huh? Fucking look at me!" He does and the smirk on his face couldn't be anymore visibly traceable, then it simply begins to spread like this venomous poison on his face. This callous, heartless poison. A poison that reverses itself to this exhilarating, almost hypnotic antidote that had her entrapped in his gaze for what felt like decades and now this, this despicable change, this deceit that consumes her entire being, to make her hopelessly dumbfound by this gruesome fucking smile. "Please tell me the fucking joke, I'd love to endure just a pinch of humor out of this scene!" She felt as if she could hear herself echo throughout the hills and trees at the rate her voice was going. "Don't you fucking get it?" the grimly placed smile still pasted on his face when he spoke. "I've literally done everything horribly imaginable to you, and you're still here? You put up with it, this isn't fucking slavery, you aren't my overweight, African American slave maid, get the fuck out if it's so bad, if I'm so bad, you're so incredibly stupid, it hurts to watch sometimes, and then I revert back to smiling because I can't stifle the dark humor that constantly reeks off your entire being anymore," He caught himself chuckling towards the last bit of his monologue. He just couldn't take the resilient catastrophe that was her anymore. The tears escaped her like a pathetic, light-rainstorm, the product a cloudy, gray puddle of water.
"How can you be so cold to me," She whispers, the hoarseness of her throat finally catching up to her. "It's easy, it's fucking easy, just shut yourself off from all this bullshit emotion, you can't really be in love with me, you'd have to of lost your god damn mind." He was wrong about her losing it, lost things have a potential chance at being found. Her mind was completely perished, the residue these ridiculous fragments of what he use to make her feel like, how she use to see him. The darkest and most honest side of him has appeared to her and now she cannot stand it. It felt like her heart was convulsing in her chest but really it simply was her brain trying to destroy all these useless reveries of she and him in love, mutually and passionately together. She collapses on the floor right in front of him, the sobs not a question of existence, it was all out, bleeding and blubbering before him. He didn't have to take this, this scenario wasn't him. He got up from the chair, stepped over her unusually small appearing body, and trotted off to the door. Surely, Jessica had to be free tonight, or maybe Sabrina, he wasn't sure but anything had to be better than this dramatic explosion of retardation that has suddenly amplified itself off of her. Once he leaves the room, she begins to collect herself. Profession, confession of any sort would not keep this man by her side, she had to fathom an alternate way of thinking, and simply existing. She wasn't always like this you know? She use to be radiant. Boys at her disposal, her heart kept circled around in this mental fortress.
What happened? How did she extract herself so far and beyond to this point of no return? Scanning her thoughts fully and rigorously, she couldn't come up with a supporting answer. She enters the bathroom and examines her face as well. Everything looks as it should minus the puffiness that reveals it's ugly presence onto her eyes. She hasn't changed physically, her weight hardly a constant yo-yo. He use to treat her with such care and romantic precision. Now all that has been relinquished, the prognosis an absence to loving herself. I suppose she's always had this problem.. This issue. It was an easy void to fill at the time. But something terribly wrong activated itself within her when she first met him. Denial had it's protection around her, to prevent her from deeming it as love at first sight. Maybe it wasn't a lack of capability to love herself, maybe it was the potential fact that she hated herself so god damn much that she wanted someone stronger than her to do the dirty deed for her, have the blood on someone else's hands, so the missing piece to validate her as sane could go unnoticed if only for a little while longer. He has to be gone for good now, at least she thinks that to reassure her ticking compulsions, just waiting to have the opportunity to jump into his arms once more. She opens the cabinet door, takes out the first gleaming thing to look at her first, not so far apart from her tragically, always impaired love life.
The way it digs into her, gives her a sense of meaning, something is happening right now, she the cause, no one to blame but herself. Things, people are not happening to her, she is happening onto herself. The brightly infused blood bubbling it's way up to greet her, she cannot hide her own malicious grin. She begins to add little, individual pools of blood on to each arm, a friendly rose color landscape, an abstract painting of a girl drowning in her own hypocritical, pathetic sea of blood. Her eyes begin to flutter and she can't stay awake to enjoy the flow, the blooming roses on her arms. He returns, Jessica in tow, she's giggling obnoxiously from a story he has just told, she clings to his arm as if he just got done rescuing her from her tower, slaying dragons and all.
He shadows himself over her, a masculine persona that holds dominance when he ducks down for the kiss. Clothes are abruptly ripped off and the animals begin to transcend into primitive activity, humanity's most finest. The minutes transform into hours, the night reliefs itself and the sun greets he and Jessica with a knowing smile. Jessica finds herself wrapped in his strong arms and she can't help but find temporary closure from all that's ever bothered her just by being enveloped in this man's body. Jessica gets up and contemplates if she should make breakfast, she wanders into the strange kitchen, only to find that there's barely enough food to make a sufficient, lust induced, morning meal. Suddenly she feels greatly insecure about her physical appearance. What if he doesn't find her attractive enough in her awaken state? Jessica's makeup must be in a chaotic disarray among her face. She rushes herself into the bathroom only to find a slashed up body, and rivers of blood drenching the linoleum. Her screams reach the hills and far beyond the trees.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.