Sweet Nothings
“I have a devil in me:
He makes me spit in your face,
He makes me laugh at the law—
I have a devil in me.”
--The Meat Purveyors,
“I Have a Devil in Me”
Craig put some sad song by some band I’d never heard of on
the television through his iPad. We listened in silence.
Though not normally one for mournful indie rock, I found the
song enjoyable, which surprised me. Most of the time I think those hipster
bitches are whiny jackasses when they get on those extended minor chord
tangents. Eh, so your girl left you and life’s a big bucket o’ suck—you ain’t
dead, so shut yer nasally yap. Everyone goes through trials and tribulations—some
moreso than others—and it doesn’t mean that we all have to write
pathetic-wrapped-in-milquetoast anthems to celebrate it.
Craig switched off his iPad at the end of the song and
dabbed at the corner of his right eye with his fingertip.
“Dude, are you crying?” I asked with barely restrained
incredulity.
“Nah,” he said. “I just get a little misty when I hear that
song, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Brings back memories.”
“Of what?”
He looked at me as though it should be obvious.
Since it wasn’t readily apparent, I crossed my legs on the
couch, took a swig of beer, and thought deeply about it.
Then it hit me. Like a freight train. I had to proceed with
caution to get what I suspected the answer would be out of him. Delicate
subject. Shit.
“You still have feelings for your ex-wife, don’t you?”
He looked away and sighed. That gave me all the affirmation
I needed.
I was pissed. Beyond pissed. All this—the nice treatment,
the paying of positive romantic attentions, the hot sex—it was all a farce. A
huge cosmic joke.
“You miserable fuck! How could you do this to me?” I spat in
fury.
“You just want me to hold your hand, listen to you cry, give
you some head, and pass the time with you in this fuckville town, but I don’t
mean anything to you!”
I punched him as hard as I could in the right shoulder.
“Ow! Cut it out!” he stuttered, clearly astounded at just
how quickly I could go from placid to abject fury.
“No!” I shouted. “How dare you do this to me—again! How dare
you!”
I was continuing to accent my words with fierce blows to his
face, upper arm, and chest. He quickly moved out of my reach and to the other
side of the room. I stood up but didn’t follow him.
“How could I have been so stupid? I should’ve known—that shitty
poster you did with her that’s still on your wall—by the way, your French ‘I
love you’ painted on it is amateurishly wrong—that picture of you two on your
wedding day on your Facebook page, the fact that you never want to be seen in
public with me—why? Is that so tongues won’t waggle and get back to her that I
exist? Fuck you! Fuck! You!”
I was now throwing anything I could get my hands on—the throw
pillows on the couch, the glass coasters on the coffee table, a hard-bound copy
of Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal—directly
at his head. I have very good aim, and he was really working at dodging my
improvised missiles.
“What is your problem?” he shouted furiously at me.
“People like you!” I screeched as I hurled a game console
remote at him. “People like you!
“You are so fucking goddamn arrogant! Shakespeare said that
it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all! At least
you had someone who loved you once! I’ve had no one! No one! I’ve never had a
relationship last more than thirty days! Ever! I’ve never been engaged or even
had the opportunity to have a man say he loves me! Instead, men just like you
always come along and expect me to give some physical comfort and emotional
support to them until they feel strong enough to move on to the next dumb cunt
they’ll build their live around and toss me by the wayside! And I’m sick of it!
Sick! Of! It!
“You had loving parents! You weren’t rejected at every turn!
You don’t give and give and give of yourself and get nothing—nothing—in return!
I’m the one who’s always there for everyone, and yet, when I need someone to be
there for me, I get crickets! Nothing but crickets!
“I even told you all that before we got to doing whatever in
the hell we’ve been doing together! And still—I mean nothing to you!
“How could I have been so stupid to think that you’d be
different than every other man in my life?”
I stopped shouting because I was overcome with angst, shame,
sorrow, and embarrassment. Tears were pouring down my cheeks and my chest was
heaving under great sobs. I was absolutely furious. And heartbroken.
“Look, Tinny, I’m—” he started apologetically.
“Shut up! Shut! Up!” I growled through clenched teeth. I
grabbed my hoodie and my purse and made my way towards the front door.
Craig stuck his hand out gently to catch my arm and stop me.
“Don’t you touch me!” I snarled as I glared deeply into his
eyes.
I then continued my hasty skulk out the door, slamming it as
hard as I could on my way out. I hoped all of his neighbors in his quiet little
subdivision heard the loud bang in the still night. I wanted them to know about
me. I wanted my existence to get back to Craig’s ex-wife.
I heard something inside the house to fall to the floor and
shatter.
Good, I thought with malice. Good.
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