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I hope you don't get confused. It's a little hard to keep straight at first. P.S. This isn't all of it. I'll put the rest later. (Her)“Don’t love me.” (Him)“But I do.” “I can’t. I can’t love you.” “It’s too late.” He leans closer, I can smell his hair. “You already do.” “You only want me because you can’t have me.” “I already have you.” “No one has me.” “I have you more than anyone else.” “Why do you do this to me?” I bury my face in his chest. “Do what? Make you feel love? You did that on your own, my sweetheart.” “I’m incapable of love.” “I adore the despair in your eyes.” He runs his hand through my hair. “I don’t trust you.” “Why not? I trust you.” “You shouldn’t. Love is forever changing.” “So you do love me?” “That’s not the point.” “What is the point?” “You can’t trust your feelings in one fleeting moment. I don’t trust you because love can change, you might stop loving me one day.” “Never.” “Don’t say that. It’s not true.” “But it is, to me.” “You’re blinded by love.” “Is that so bad?” He grins down at me, hands slide down my back. “I love you.” “Love isn’t real. You lust me.” “I want you, yes, but I love you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll die with you.” “No you won’t.” “Stop contradicting me. Accept my love.” “I can’t.” “Why? Just let all your feelings go. Love me without holding back.” “That’s not possible.” “It is. I’ll never have another.” “Another?” “Another woman.” “Yes you will, you can’t help it. So don’t hold back for me.” “Why don’t you believe me?” “Because I don’t trust you.” “We’re going around in circles.” “Then accept that I can’t love or trust you.” “Only if you accept my love.” I look up at him. I can’t. But I don’t say anything. “Hold me,” I say, pulling him closer. “Hurt me,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “Love me,” I finally give in. “Like a moth to a flame, I do.” “Come with me.” He stands behind me with his arms around my waist. “Where?” “Home.” “Why?” “Because I want to be with you.” “But do I want to be with you?” “Yes.” “What makes you so sure?” “Because I can see it in your eyes. I’ve seen it all night.” “Are we dating?” “We’re loving.” “Yes, but are we dating?” “What do you mean by dating?” “Boyfriend and girlfriend, not seeing anyone else.” “Yes, then I suppose we are dating.” “And what if I don’t want to sleep with you?” “But you do.” “But what if I don’t? Will you leave me?” “I will never leave you.” “You might one day.” “No I won’t. I’m too lost in you.” “Don’t. Needing is dangerous.” “You need me. No matter how much you deny it, you long for me.” “Do I?” But I need no answer. I already know it’s true. He takes his arms away. “Now all you need to do is admit that you love me.” “Needing is not loving.” I don’t feel him. “It’s part of loving. I need you because I love you. You need me because you love me.” “I don’t love you.” “Yes, you do.” A few moments of silence. I worry if he has stepped away. “Are you there?” Silence. I feel his cold fingers wrap around my waist again, holding me tight. “See? You need me, need confirmation that I am here, need confirmation of my love.” I sigh, turning to face him. “Do not despair, my love. Trust that I will always be here.” “But I don’t trust you.” He lets out an aggravated sigh. “I know.” He drops his arms from me and turns to walk away. “Wait!” I let escape from my lips. He stops, turns back to me, grinning. “You said you would never leave me.” “And you said you didn’t need me.” “But I do.” I walk to him, put my arms around him while his still lay at his side. “And do you love me?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I can’t. Please, don’t ask me to.” He softens, holds me again finally. “No, my love. I won’t.” I sink into the soft material of his sweater. “I love you,” he whispers into my hair. I know. “What about spirituality?” “I don’t know.” I lay on his bed, naked. His fingers trace lightly around on my bare stomach. “You don’t know?” he says. He is naked as well, lying on his stomach, perpendicular to me. “Well,” I say, searching for the words. “I guess I believe that we have souls. And maybe everything has energy that we can absorb, and maybe there is negative energy along with positive energy. And maybe we are reborn, or maybe we go to heaven and spend the rest of eternity there. I don’t know. What does it matter.” He lays his head on my stomach, looking up at me. “Would you spend eternity with me?” “No.” “Why not?” “Eternity is a long time when you’ve fallen out of love.” “But we won’t fall out of love. No one can fall out of love. It’s impossible.” “It is possible. Love fades as quickly as it is created. You can fall out of love.” “We can’t fall out of love.” “We could. You don’t know.” “And what if I do know?” “Then tell me what pleasures lie in the future?” “What if there are no pleasures, nothing but chaos, pain and destruction?” “Then the world fell out of love.” “No, the world fell out of organization. The world fell out of nature.” “So nature keeps the world out of chaos?” “Precisely, my love.” He pauses to kiss the skin between my breasts. “Death and life keeps the world out of chaos.” “So love is not of nature?” “Love is human nature.” “Our love is not natural.” “Yes it is, love.” “Our love is not real, then.” “Yes it is.” “Then our love is not logical.” He raises himself onto his elbows and smiles. “Perhaps, but our love is not wrong.” “And I suppose our love is strong?” “Yes, love.” “Why should I believe you?” “Have I ever lied to you?” “It doesn’t matter. I don’t trust you.” “But you love me?” I say nothing. He shifts, his face hovers over my own. He kisses my nose. “Love and trust go hand in hand.” “I think you are wrong.” “Think what you like.” He kisses my lips, pries them apart with his tongue. “Are you real?” I ask once he has released my mouth. “Can you feel me?” He moves his hand along my thigh. “Yes,” my voice a whisper. “Can you hear me?” “Yes.” “Can you see me?” “Yes.” “Well then I am real. But are you real?” “Yes.” “Why should I believe you?” “Because you love me.” “Trust and love, my dear.” He smiles again. “Trust and love.” “Is it naieve to think we are the only life in the universe?” “Yes,” I reply, looking out at the pond. “Why?” “We can’t possibly be the only creatures out there. It just goes to show that everything has to revolve around man. All the universe was created for man to live in. We need all that space, yet we don’t even have the technology to go there.” “What about alternate universes?” He adjusts the scarf around his neck. “Sure, I guess. Why not.” “In an alternate reality, you love me.” “And in another you killed me.” I smell the suede of his jacket. He says nothing. “Would you rather be with her?” “Who?” The park bench is suddenly hard. “The ‘me’ in the alternate reality who loves you.” He ponders for a moment. “No,” he says. “I love the way you love me.” “But I don’t love you.” “Yes you do.” “Would you follow me around if I hated you?” “But you love me.” “It’s a hypothetical question.” “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” “If I was killed in a car accident, would you kill yourself to be with me?” “Yes.” “If I could find a way into another reality, would you follow me?” “Yes.” “Would you fall in love with the other ‘me’s in those realities?” “No.” “How would you tell us apart?” “You’d be the one claiming not to love me.” “And what if I lied?” “I know when you lie.” “How?” “You always narrow your eyes, and they turn greener.” “You’re lying.” “No, love, I am not.” He brushes away the stray hair that has clung to my lips. “Can we have a picnic one day?” “Of course, sweetheart.” “On a sunny day, when the grass is green and the children play?” “No, my love, not then.” “Why not?” “Because the sun hurts my eyes.” It is overcast just now. “I don’t want to go on a picnic anyway.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t love you.” “But you show me love.” He puts his arms around my shoulders and pulls me to him. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” “But I like it when you hurt me. The only way you can know pleasure is to know pain.” ”You only bring me pain.” “Don’t say that.” “But it’s true.” “You’re eyes are narrowing.” “Can I never shock you?” “No. I’ve seen too much, love.” “You’ve loved others?” “No, my love.” “Stop calling me that.” “What?” “But you’ve had others.” “Yes. And so have you.” “But I don’t love you.” “And I’ve never loved them. Not like you.” “So you have loved.” “I suppose, in a way, yes.” “I’m glad I don’t trust you.” “Why is that?” “Because then I would be mad.” “It is not the lack of trust that makes you not mad, it is the fact that you are not petty.” “I guess so.” “You know so, love.” “I told you not to call me that.” “Call you what love?” “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave.” We both know I won’t leave. “As you wish, my love.” “Can I keep you?” he whispers as we dance. I shake my head. No. He sighs. “I won’t break you.” “Accident’s happen.” “Not to me.” “To everyone.” He shakes his head, gives me a sad smile. “Will I ever be able to bring you back?” He holds me out at arms length. “Bring me back from where?” “From the edge. You’re jaded.” “I’m not jaded.” “Yes, love, you are.” “I’m just practical.” “Call it what you like, but let me save you.” “I don’t need saving.” His eyes take on a strange glow in the candle light. “Let me save you.” He pulls me to him, embraces me. “Would you be able to?” “Yes, my love, I promise.” “Promises are empty.” “Not mine.” “Everyones.” “I love you.” “Don’t say that.” “We’ve been through this.” “Right, so you should know you don’t love me.” “No, sweetheart; so you should know I do.” “I won’t argue with you.” “That’s a first.” “Have you ever been loved by someone whom you didn’t love?” “No.” “So you’ve loved everyone who loved you?” “Yes.” “Have you ever loved someone who didn’t return that love?” “No.” “No one? Ever?” “No.” “You’re cocky.” “No, love, I’m not. It’s just the truth.” “What about me?” “You love me.” “No I don’t.” “Of course you do, you just won’t accept it.” “We can’t be in love.” “Why not?” “It’s a sick love.” “It’s a dark, secret love.” “I don’t love you.” “No matter how hard you try, your heart cannot hate me. You’ll always be here, with me.” “You don’t know me.” “But I do, love. I know all about you. I’m for you.” “There’s no such thing as fate.” “We make our own destinies.” “Then how do you know that we are supposed to be together?” “Because I made it so.” “And you have that power?” “Of course, sweetheart. We make our own destinies.” “I don’t believe you.” “You don’t have to. But you know I’m right.” “Do I?” “Yes.” He smiles a smile that touches his eyes. I melt. “You’re love is a razorblade kiss,” he sings. “Sweetest is the taste from your lips.” “Stop.” I say, but I can’t help the smile on my lips. “Your love is a razorblade kiss.” He dances a little. “Stop.” I say, laughing. He stops, looks at me seriously. “I can be him for you. Really. If that would make you happy.” “No,” I drop my eyes. “I can.” He walks towards me. A flash of green eyes. “No,” I say again, this time only a whisper. “I like you the way you are. And besides, it would only be a lie.” “I suppose,” he says, his posture sinking. I look at him. “Why are you sad?” “I wouldn’t have to ask you these things if you would just tell me you love me.” He looks into my eyes. I say nothing. He sighs deeply. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I see it in your eyes. And I love you even more.” “It shines so beautifully.” I stand by the window. “Come see.” “No.” He sits farther back in the room, in an overstuffed chair. “Why not?” “Because the sun hurts my eyes.” “But its beautiful.” “I’m sure it is.” I walk over to him, sit on his lap, my hands around his neck. “The sun really hurts your eyes?” “Yes.” He looks sad. “I’m sorry.” I kiss his hair. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” “I know, but I can’t help you.” “You are helping me, love, just by being here.” Silence for a few moments. “Why?” “Why what, love?” “Why does the sun hurt your eyes? Why are you so weak now?” “I was born this way, my dear.” “Is it genetic?” “No.” He slumps down farther into the chair. “Am I too heavy?” “No, love. Don’t move. I’m just tired.” “You should go lay down.” “No, I want to sit here with you.” I nod my head. Silence. “Do you want to have children someday?” “Yes, love. Someday.” “Do you have any already?” “No. I was waiting for you.” He smiles faintly. “Why not any of the others?” “They weren’t like you, love.” Silence. “Why do you love me?” Despair (anguish?) in my voice. He doesn’t answer, only looks into my eyes, pulls my head towards his, and kisses me. “That’s not an answer.” “Yes, love, it is.” “Maybe to you.” “Maybe you’re not asking the right question.” “What question should I be asking?” “It will come to you.” “Whatever.” I’m aggravated now. I want to get up, to leave. He senses this. “No, please. I’m sorry. Stay.” I sigh. I don’t know that I was really going to leave. He relaxes, sure that I will stay. His eyes close. “Let’s go to bed, love.” I tug at his arm. He does not resist, lets me lead him to the stairs. “Sleep now,” he says as we step into the bedroom. “Yes, love,” I nod. “Sleep now.” “Love?” I hear the word in my sleep. “Love!” It’s louder now. I turn over. It’s 4am. “What?” I say groggily. “Please.” A bang on the front door. The voice. It’s HIM. I open the door, take in the sight of him. He doesn’t speak, only looks at me apologetically. I take his elbow and pull him in, closing the door. He breaks down, covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m so sorry.” “Shhh.” I walk him to the bathroom. He vomits into the toilet. I hold his hair back. He stands up, turns to me. He smells of booze and cigarettes. He watches me with green eyes as I undress him. I throw his filthy clothes in a pile on the floor. I wet a wash cloth to wipe away the blood around his mouth and neck and hands. I leave the wash cloth in the sink, the sight of it makes me shudder. “Are you going to be sick some more?” He shakes his head. No. He flashes the blue green eyes at me. I ignore him, turning off the lights so its pitch black. I take his hand and fumble my way to the bed. I pull down the covers. He falls into the sheets. I lay next to him, staring at the ceiling. He turns to me, all brooding lips and dark eyes. I open my arms. He lays his head on my chest, hugs my waist. “I won’t do this again. I promise.” A moment passes. “I’m trying.” “I know.” I stroke his hair as he sobs softly. “But something can’t come from nothing.” He sits on the couch, vaguely watching the TV. He doesn’t watch TV much. “Why not?” “It just doesn’t make sense. You would have nothing to create that something.” My head is on his lap. “I suppose not. But a lot of things in this world don’t make sense.” “Like what?” He strokes my hair away from my face. “Like hate, for instance, and love.” “For once, you’re right.” “So you agree with me?” “Yes.” Silence. “Do you love me?” “No.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, love. I-“ “No. Don’t apologize.” I look up at him. He grins. “You called me love.” “No I didn’t.” “Yes, my dear, you did.” “I don’t remember saying that.” “It doesn’t matter, I remember.” I give up. “Ok.” I know I said it. He knows I know, but he won’t let on. “I have to leave for awhile.” “Where?” “Somewhere far away. On business.” “How long will you be gone?” “Two weeks. Maybe longer. Depends on what happens.” “When?” “Tomorrow.” “So why are you just telling me this?” “I didn’t know how you would react.” “And how am I reacting?” “Fine, I suppose.” Silence for a moment. I sit up, pull the blanket around my shoulders. “You’re upset, love.” “No, I’m just…I don’t know.” “You will miss me?” I shrug. “Maybe.” “I will miss you, love.” His voice shakes. I look to him. I see the tears in his eyes. “Don’t cry.” “I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to.” “I know,” I say. My face heats. I feel the tears coming. I can’t look at him anymore. “Please, love,” he says, “I’ll try not to be gone too long.” He embraces me, wraps me in his warm arms. “Do you promise?” “Yes, sweetheart. I promise.” “Eugh,” I whisper to myself. I can’t sleep. The thunder is making the windows shake. I get up from the bed, tripping over some dirty clothes. I haven’t cleaned in a week and a half. That’s how long he’s been gone. That’s how long I’ve been alone. But I don’t need him. The coffee pot churns, filling the apartment with its strong smell. There are no clean coffee mugs. I pull out a plastic cup from the cabinet. The coffee burns my tongue as I test it. “Fuck.” I don’t want to turn on any lights. It’s so dark outside, but the flashes of lightening brighten up the room. The phone rings. I don’t remember where I put it. I set my plastic cup of coffee down on the counter, knowing that I will trip and not wanting to spill it on myself. My tongue is still numb. I stumble around the living room, trying to follow the ringing, and I trip over something. “Ow!” I hit my head on the coffee table. It hurts like a bitch. I don’t think it’s bleeding, but I can’t be sure. While I wait for the pain to subside the phone stops ringing. “Dammit.” I sit there in the dark for a moment, watching the rain streak down the window glass. The phone rings again. It’s somewhere near me. I feel around, stick my hand into something that I don’t want to identify, move around a few clothes, and find the phone. “Hello?” I say, a little frustrated. “Hello, love.” It’s him. “I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” “No.” No long answers from me. My head still hurts. “Are you alright? What time is it?” I look up at the red numbers on the clock. “3:30,” I say. “I couldn’t sleep. Thunder storm.” “It’s 10:30 here. I forgot about the time difference. But since you’re awake…hold on.” There’s movement on the other line. He’s talking to someone else. “Sorry,” he says when he comes back on the line. I still don’t answer. “Are you sure you’re alright, love?” he asks, concern in his voice. “Shit,” I say, reaching up to the bump on my forehead. I am bleeding. “What? What is it?” “Nothing. I just tripped and hit my head. It’s bleeding a little.” “Go look at it. Why did you even answer the phone?” “Because it was next to me on the living room floor.” “Go look at it. Now.” I obey. I stand up, fumble my way to the bathroom. I actually turn the light on, and I have to squint my eyes to see. I look in the mirror. It doesn’t look too bad. I run a wash cloth over it, then put some Neosporin on it. Should be fine. He waits patiently on the phone. “It’s fine,” I say, gratefully turning off the bathroom light. “Sweetheart, why was the phone on the floor?” “I don’t know.” I finally find my bed again and flop on it. “I must have just left it there.” “What did you trip over?” He sounds like an adult talking to a child who has done something bad. “I don’t know. Probably some clothes.” “Why are there clothes on your living room floor?” “Because there are. They’re just mine, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “I am not worried that you are cheating on me, love. I know you’re not. I am worried that you are not taking care of yourself.” He sighs. “I don’t need you,” I say in a whisper. A minute of silence. “I am coming home.” My heart stops. I’m ashamed of myself for being happy. “Why?” “Because I am worried about you.” “You shouldn’t be.” “But I am.” He pauses. “I am taking the next flight out. Please be there when I get there.” I sigh. “I will,” I say almost inaudibly. But I know he heard. “I will be there soon, my love.” I hear dial tone. He has hung up. I sit on the bed holding the phone until he arrives fourteen hours later. I stare off into space as he gently bathes me. I haven’t showered since he’s been gone. He puts me to bed. The cotton sheets are clean, and feel so warm against my body. Sleep pulls me into unconsciousness for a while, and when I wake up he is sitting on the bed, looking at me. “You cleaned,” I say in a whisper. “Yes, love.” “You didn’t have to. I don’t need you.” “Yes, love.” “I’m serious.” “I know.” Silence. “I’m sorry I interrupted your business.” “Do not worry about it. I can complete my business from here.” I blink my eyes in a false nod. He brushes a stray hair from my forehead, his finger tips cold and smooth, and sighs. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself. Why?” I languidly shrug. “That is not an answer.” “I was taking a vacation.” He raises an eyebrow. “From what?” “Life.” “I don’t believe you.” “Why, because you don’t really love me?” “No. Because I know when you lie.” I roll my eyes. “I think,” he says, letting a small smile cross his lips, “that you missed me too much.” I look away, not wanting him to see the truth. His smile disappears. “I missed you too much as well.” I look at him long enough to see the shimmer of tears in his dark eyes. “But I was afraid that you…” He swallows. “It is no excuse to treat yourself like this.” There are a million things I want to say. I say none of them. He gets up off the bed, stands by the door. “Maybe it is best that I…” He can’t finish. He clears his throat and tries again. “I have too much of an affect on you, and it may be too much of a negative one. I should…I should leave.” He turns, is halfway out the door. “No!” His body turns back to me, his dark eyes curious but tired. He is tired of me. “Why?” “Because,” he holds my gaze, pulls the words from my throat before my brain can scare them away, “because I need you.” “Do you?” His expression softens and he takes a few steps closer. “Yes,” I choke out, nodding emphatically. “And…” “And?” he says gently. “And…I love you.” The tears flow from my eyes with the truth, and in an instant he is beside me, holding me in his arms, stroking my hair. “I love you,” I say again, finally believing it. “I know, love,” he whispers soothingly. “I always have.” |