[Drabble] [locked] I swear I love you more
He told me once that it was either him or me, and it certainly wasn't going to be him. It was the morning after one of those fights that I could never remember but always felt.
"I love you too much to ever leave you. I would die without you," is how he put it. So for a long time the only way I could figure on getting out is by dying. It had to be a very specific death though, not one of those where someone suddenly "takes a long vacation to Paris," and is quietly forgotten about. Where no one questions anything, because it's not polite to mention disappeared daughters over a five course meal at a friends house.
No one ever asks, "so, whatever happened to the body of your missing daughter?"
No one ever wants to know, "how did you do it?"
Miss Manners wrote a column about it, in response to a letter she received some time ago.
"Dear Miss Manners, I believe a friend of mine brutally murdered his young daughter in a fit of blind rage. Everyone says that she's just off vacationing in Europe, but I believe differently. Would it be rude of me to bring it up next time I see him? Signed, Not sure of protocol in New York."
Miss Manners responded in kind: "Dear Not sure in New York, Are you insane? The only time that topic of conversation is appropriate is after at least a fifth of jack and someone is snorting coke. This isn't Studio 54, well behaved gentlemen do not murder their daughters."
I think I was the only one who thought it was funny, of course I was the only one in my freshman class that had a living will.
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"Do you love me?" He asked one evening. The room was dark, except for the light that came in under the door, half illuminating the side of his face.
"I love you."
"Why don't you act like you love me? If you just did what I asked, none of this would have happened."
If only, If only. If 'if's' and 'and's' were pots and pans . . . .
He was drunk, he's always drunk. The kind of drunk that you can smell on someone's breath, that sinks into their skin. After a life time of drinking, the majority of the liquid he took in had some sort of alcohol content, so it oozed out of his pores when he sweat, if he could cry they would probably taste faintly of Jack Daniels.
It would get on my sheets, on my clothes - that stink. The bitter smell of cigars and booze, not to mention anything else he had rolled in that day. Despite his outward appearance, despite the money, he has never been anything but a horny street mutt who managed to learn how to walk on his hind legs. It's apart of his charm, like watching a bear ride around on a tricycle in the circus.
The big top. Elephants, jugglers, sword swallower, acrobats and the magnificent man on the flying trapeze. Everyone plays apart. Step right up, for a dollar fifty you will see horrors that will set you to shaking, and feats of daring that will set your heart racing.
Everyone wants a peek at the freak show, as long as they can leave as soon as it's over.
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I've never been scared of death. It was one of those things that seemed to be more of a blessing then a curse. It was more like one giant nap, when someone got too tired to fight or deal with every day life.
I always thought that being set out to sea would be really fitting. No tears though, no applause, and please flash photography. The soul has left the building.
"I love you too much to ever leave you. I would die without you," is how he put it. So for a long time the only way I could figure on getting out is by dying. It had to be a very specific death though, not one of those where someone suddenly "takes a long vacation to Paris," and is quietly forgotten about. Where no one questions anything, because it's not polite to mention disappeared daughters over a five course meal at a friends house.
No one ever asks, "so, whatever happened to the body of your missing daughter?"
No one ever wants to know, "how did you do it?"
Miss Manners wrote a column about it, in response to a letter she received some time ago.
"Dear Miss Manners, I believe a friend of mine brutally murdered his young daughter in a fit of blind rage. Everyone says that she's just off vacationing in Europe, but I believe differently. Would it be rude of me to bring it up next time I see him? Signed, Not sure of protocol in New York."
Miss Manners responded in kind: "Dear Not sure in New York, Are you insane? The only time that topic of conversation is appropriate is after at least a fifth of jack and someone is snorting coke. This isn't Studio 54, well behaved gentlemen do not murder their daughters."
I think I was the only one who thought it was funny, of course I was the only one in my freshman class that had a living will.
--------------------------------------------------------
"Do you love me?" He asked one evening. The room was dark, except for the light that came in under the door, half illuminating the side of his face.
"I love you."
"Why don't you act like you love me? If you just did what I asked, none of this would have happened."
If only, If only. If 'if's' and 'and's' were pots and pans . . . .
He was drunk, he's always drunk. The kind of drunk that you can smell on someone's breath, that sinks into their skin. After a life time of drinking, the majority of the liquid he took in had some sort of alcohol content, so it oozed out of his pores when he sweat, if he could cry they would probably taste faintly of Jack Daniels.
It would get on my sheets, on my clothes - that stink. The bitter smell of cigars and booze, not to mention anything else he had rolled in that day. Despite his outward appearance, despite the money, he has never been anything but a horny street mutt who managed to learn how to walk on his hind legs. It's apart of his charm, like watching a bear ride around on a tricycle in the circus.
The big top. Elephants, jugglers, sword swallower, acrobats and the magnificent man on the flying trapeze. Everyone plays apart. Step right up, for a dollar fifty you will see horrors that will set you to shaking, and feats of daring that will set your heart racing.
Everyone wants a peek at the freak show, as long as they can leave as soon as it's over.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I've never been scared of death. It was one of those things that seemed to be more of a blessing then a curse. It was more like one giant nap, when someone got too tired to fight or deal with every day life.
I always thought that being set out to sea would be really fitting. No tears though, no applause, and please flash photography. The soul has left the building.