So Much Heartbreak
"There's so much heartbreak in the world," he paused, "Do I really need to contribute to it?"
Nathan turned over his hands, examining every digit as though they were the keys to his uncanny ability to make women hurt. No, it wasn't his hands. It was his mouth. That was the source of it all.
He considered that he had a lot to be confident about. He had a two great jobs, one of which was all that he could have ever dreamed of. The other was alright too. He had the power and the money that would make anyone jealous. He even had the good fortune to be from decent genetic stock: a trademark child of two beautiful doctors who had nothing in common but an average rating of 8.7.
When the buck finally stopped, he had confidence in things in his life, but not his life itself.
The only relationships Nathan had ever seen were bad ones. He'd guessed, from all of the examples around him, that the man's lot in a relationship was to be poor, and taciturn and miserable. He was twenty-six now, and 87% of his friends were on their first marraige. Of that, 23% had their first kids, and 48% had already had their first divorce. To complicate the statistics further, 17% fell into both categories.
What about Rachyl? What about her? Nathan was of the age where all of his professional contacts would ask at professional type dinners as to when the two of them planned on getting married. Even before her, Nathan was assailed with that question, constantly put into the hot seat of fulfilling the notion of the American Dream. In reality, Nathan assumed it was because they wanted the young stag to become a worn out old warhorse, finally broken of his independent streak.
He'd been fighting growing up for a while, and it looked like he was succeeding, but sooner or later Rachyl would need committment. He would hate it, because he knew there would never be anyone quite like her again, but he couldn't stop now. You only grow old, he earnestly thought, if you bought into the old patterns of adulthood. In his defiance, he would be young forever.
Nathan turned over his hands, examining every digit as though they were the keys to his uncanny ability to make women hurt. No, it wasn't his hands. It was his mouth. That was the source of it all.
He considered that he had a lot to be confident about. He had a two great jobs, one of which was all that he could have ever dreamed of. The other was alright too. He had the power and the money that would make anyone jealous. He even had the good fortune to be from decent genetic stock: a trademark child of two beautiful doctors who had nothing in common but an average rating of 8.7.
When the buck finally stopped, he had confidence in things in his life, but not his life itself.
The only relationships Nathan had ever seen were bad ones. He'd guessed, from all of the examples around him, that the man's lot in a relationship was to be poor, and taciturn and miserable. He was twenty-six now, and 87% of his friends were on their first marraige. Of that, 23% had their first kids, and 48% had already had their first divorce. To complicate the statistics further, 17% fell into both categories.
What about Rachyl? What about her? Nathan was of the age where all of his professional contacts would ask at professional type dinners as to when the two of them planned on getting married. Even before her, Nathan was assailed with that question, constantly put into the hot seat of fulfilling the notion of the American Dream. In reality, Nathan assumed it was because they wanted the young stag to become a worn out old warhorse, finally broken of his independent streak.
He'd been fighting growing up for a while, and it looked like he was succeeding, but sooner or later Rachyl would need committment. He would hate it, because he knew there would never be anyone quite like her again, but he couldn't stop now. You only grow old, he earnestly thought, if you bought into the old patterns of adulthood. In his defiance, he would be young forever.