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So being alone makes you do crazy, stupid things. Being LONELY makes you
worthy of a white-walled twelve-by-twelve. Minus the windows, plus the straightjacket.
Being lonely for long periods
of time disrupts the functioning of your inner monologue to the point where, in your head, you're saying that you're an asshole
and you're so fucking sorry you didn't just swallow your pride and grab hold of the good thing with its hair splayed across
your pillow.
The problem? You're saying that out loud, too, and you don't notice until that good thing is staring at
you with its jaw on the floor.
She clears her throat, and I know she's going to try and be professional about this.
"Alex..."
And
I've already fucked it up, so I figure I can continue. A man with nothing left to lose is a dangerous, dangerous human being.
"No,
Chris, I'm serious. I know I fucked up. I'm apparently really, really good at that. Even better than I am with the whole 'pretending
to be in love' thing. But dammit, Chris, when you walked out, you fucking killed me, you know? I thought I'd been lying to
you the whole time. You knew I'd been lying to you the whole time. But when that door slammed, I realized I wasn't lying anymore,
and that realization is enough to hospitalize a person."
Her eyes narrow. "Yeah, imagine what a thousand of them could
do..."
"I get it. I get it and I'm sorry. There aren't enough apologies in the world for me to properly convey exactly
how sorry I am, but I'm sure me curled up on the kitchen floor in tears was a pretty good depiction--and I'm not just saying
that as a guilt trip."
I can see her faltering. She always was a visual person, and I know that image hit her hard,
because I know how much she does love me.
I know because, see, the feeling's mutual now.
She closes her eyes
and the knuckles of the hands on the cart get a little bit whiter and I know what an asshole I am for planting that image
in her head.
But, dammit, I'm a desperate asshole.
"I'm sorry I hurt you, Alex, but I really couldn't stay there
any more."
"I don't blame you."
"So why bring it up?"
And here we go. Destruction of Alex the apathetic,
take one.
"Because things are different now. I'm not lying anymore, and you're not dying anymore, and...and maybe you
might be able to stay there now."
She looks up at me, and everything in her quivers a little, and that means that there's
hope for me yet.
"Alex..."
"I mean it, Chris. There's a vacancy now, and I'd really, really, really
like it if you could fill it."
Something ignites in those blue eyes of hers, and I know I've said the wrong thing.
"It's
just a vacancy, isn't it? It's not that you love me or that you miss me, it's that you miss that body on the other side of
the bed. You miss that presence in the kitchen every morning. You miss having someone to cuddle the other pillow on the couch.
You don't hate that I'm gone, Alex, you hate that you have to be alone."
She's right. Fuck me.
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