What Women Want
The lack of pain surprised him. Jack had felt nothing more than a dull emptiness as he entered his flat. It was not a sensation that would bother him to drink or tears or angry prose he’d as soon throw away as hammer on to paper. It was a sensation like routine hunger, the quiet kind that quivered the stomach of the casual diner who wanted any old thing to eat, as long as burned slowly and still left them feeling full hours later. Just enough to get them to lunch, just enough to get them to dinner.
He’d expected something more, an encompassing emptiness that drove him mad with a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied with food. He’d expected to drop Pinot on the floor and start tearing through his apartment the way he had that day when Satine returned and confessed her burning love to the one she’d fall in love with anyway-and thinking about that caused a flame of anger to spark through him, but that, too, subsided into dullness. Pinot was dropped, but gently, and Jack walked slowly to the refrigerator as if his legs were too fatigued to move at a regular pace.
He stopped halfway, his eyes lifting up to the windows with a sharp look of realization.
It made sense, now. His reaction, his dullness made perfect sense: he was tired. He was of this dance he’d been doing with Ann and Satine, tired of his own circular thoughts, tired of guessing at what he wanted, tired of guessing what they wanted and coming up wrong every time. He was tired of trying. He was tired of fighting, and this, indeed, explained why he was so fatigued.
He hadn’t risked his life to save Satine, that was true, and he had run like a coward while she was dying in another man’s arms. But he had tried hard with her, had told her time and again that he loved her, and she didn’t listen. Maybe he hadn’t done enough-but what was enough? To face death? He’d done that. The results weren’t in his favor. Perhaps they’d like me better if I died for them, he thought bitterly. Though I doubt even then that would be enough. He scoffed and pulled out a chair from underneath the small table in the kitchen. He plopped into it as if he’d just come back from a hard work-out in the gym and thought he was tired enough to fall asleep on the table.
He was surprised, and perhaps relieved, to note that he didn’t want to stay asleep forever. All he wanted to do was sleep the tiredness off and wake up in the morning refreshed, ready to work.
And not bothered by the mystery of what a woman wants.
He’d expected something more, an encompassing emptiness that drove him mad with a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied with food. He’d expected to drop Pinot on the floor and start tearing through his apartment the way he had that day when Satine returned and confessed her burning love to the one she’d fall in love with anyway-and thinking about that caused a flame of anger to spark through him, but that, too, subsided into dullness. Pinot was dropped, but gently, and Jack walked slowly to the refrigerator as if his legs were too fatigued to move at a regular pace.
He stopped halfway, his eyes lifting up to the windows with a sharp look of realization.
It made sense, now. His reaction, his dullness made perfect sense: he was tired. He was of this dance he’d been doing with Ann and Satine, tired of his own circular thoughts, tired of guessing at what he wanted, tired of guessing what they wanted and coming up wrong every time. He was tired of trying. He was tired of fighting, and this, indeed, explained why he was so fatigued.
He hadn’t risked his life to save Satine, that was true, and he had run like a coward while she was dying in another man’s arms. But he had tried hard with her, had told her time and again that he loved her, and she didn’t listen. Maybe he hadn’t done enough-but what was enough? To face death? He’d done that. The results weren’t in his favor. Perhaps they’d like me better if I died for them, he thought bitterly. Though I doubt even then that would be enough. He scoffed and pulled out a chair from underneath the small table in the kitchen. He plopped into it as if he’d just come back from a hard work-out in the gym and thought he was tired enough to fall asleep on the table.
He was surprised, and perhaps relieved, to note that he didn’t want to stay asleep forever. All he wanted to do was sleep the tiredness off and wake up in the morning refreshed, ready to work.
And not bothered by the mystery of what a woman wants.