A brief pose as your chest succumbs to the unexpurgated painfulness of the events; your eyes are wide open as your mind
struggles to come up with an exit strategy. You are lying on the bed next to her as she flirts with Ray on the phone. You are trying not to react, and you succeed but only on the surface of it. Deep within your immense brain is number crunching but you still fail to come up with that much needed exit strategy. You have to flee the scene but how to achieve that minor feat gracefully is a debacle greater than your mental prowess. At the moment your managing not to react which is good and you pray to God that your face and voice manage to maintain an electrically neutral state as she chips away at your pride. Your heart is taking a drubbing as her raw cruelty tramples it. She looks at you and smiles just to rub it in. You are on the verge of exploding but you just manage to keep it civil your steady hand managing to conceal the tsunami of emotion drowning your interior but only just.
This was actually going well just two weeks ago and she invited you so you thought in the minimum she’d at least act interested but you were so wrong. She’s on a roll but she hasn’t yet impeded your wayward hand so you weather the storm of romantic embarrassment. But it’s rough and unforgiving, your heart is on the verge of implosion yet still you hold out as the texts which she doesn’t bother to conceal take on a nastier overtly sexual tone. You do not flee, do not react, do not waver like Obama in the face of a Republican onslaught because your heart has been there before and you are confident it will win again. It’s happening again only this time your hand is unimpeded so from the vast sea of negatives you hold on to one positive. She pulls away as you enter her erogenous zone and flees briefly to the shower where she changes into something more prohibitive. And your final bastion of hope is finally besieged by the unstoppable tide of rejection.
She returns and despite having every reason to escape, to exit immediately like JFK you chose to do the other thing not because it is simple but because it is difficult. You remain and challenge her to be even crueler but such cruelty for most
doesn’t come naturally and out of shame or mercy or both she returns your loving gesture and touches you back. You move in for the kill and kiss her sweet mouth, she reciprocates but the damage is done. The kiss means nothing because you’ve got her message, she’s trying to tell you to back off, that you can’t be anymore than you’ve become and that your relationship has reached an emotional plateau. You understand and weirdly you are not angry, she has released and you are ready to fly again and return to your native environment of the romantic hunt. Except you won’t at least not immediately because you wonder if your heart can take anymore, whether it can absorb any more false hopes and recover again. It probably has some fight left but not a lot, its hanging on the edge and not just emotionally but physically.
Ten minutes later you say the final adios, she extends some courtesy and walks you to the stairs but it’s pointless you are totally deflated and she fails to hide the fact that she doesn’t care. She hugs you and promises to see you soon but there’s no commitment in her promise and you wouldn’t care less. You jog down the stair case as you escape her and that’s when you notice it. You are light and for brief, fleeting moments there’s a burning sensation in your chest radiating outwardly before attempting to snatch your awareness and make you faint but you make it to the door with your consciousness intact. The signs are symptomatic of heart disease and it’s the third time it’s happened this month but you keep on postponing that date with the doctor. Your heart is probably sick, they have probably damaged it in a very real way but in some way you are conflicted for if this it, if your heart is really sick then it’s a good way to die, painlessly and unconsciously. And for that reason you’ll never see a doctor, never stop loving or hoping for the worst thing that can happen to a forty year old bachelor is a heart attack which after all is a better way to die.
By Mark Abraham