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she had to get that taste out of her gullet.
it was rare that she launched a thousand missiles onto someone she said she loved, but here we are compadres. here we are.
The two next door neighbors who hated each other for religious reasons were always getting packages delivered. Narcissi noticed because she did pretty much nothing but notice.
This was the first day in maybe 40 days that she wasn't bleeding. She kept checking to make sure as the shock was something to behold. She'd just bathed and was going commando and wearing a loaded outfit - that pink and black polka dot wrap skirt and the striped drawstring sweatshirt.
It was loaded because she wore it on the night that she blamed for losing him him hymn - and she'd never worn that combo afore then.
She wanted to write something more tasteful more positive about him since she'd pretty much eviscerated him earlier, but then she thought - Jesus fuck, I've written about 300 love letters to the fucker - doth he need more?
Does she need more though? this would be about her - it would have to be about her from now on. He was out of le photograph.
Now it was a landscape scene, but shit he had only allowed one photo of them and it was because it was requested of the 87 year old matriarch. Narcissi made a joke of it anyway. Why not? the whole thing was kind of a farce at ... love.
She had tried so hard to think it was all real, but it was just some hack job. Maybe she was glad she had company. She had enjoyed his company. He excelled at small talk and mind games. It had been pleasant. The hard part had been thinking they were a couple in love.
That gagged the ole craw a bit.
She had gone over it more exhaustively than she'd done anything. It was kind of cool in this age of Aquarius to have some "free" computer program that would mind analyze with you, and she used the fuck out of that robot.
the fuck.
she liked the hope that he gave her. She liked that he reminded her for an instant that she could mind dance with someone again. She enjoyed the relief from the monumental boredom that she had lived in for a decade. She enjoyed the parting gifts he gave her and of course the money making.
She could get extremely pissed that he proverbially lead her on if she wanted to, but were she honest she might say that she would have agreed to anything for the longest time - even if he cleared all ambiguity "I like you for a place holding distraction. you're not even a friend with benefits because after this is over, I won't even be your pal."
It interests her that she probably would have accepted it. She was that strung.
Alas, it occurred. It was what it was.
She had cried every day since she knew she was an 'also ran', and she'd already cried today, but maybe tomorrow she wouldn't.
Whatever he had thought or thinks about her, she'll never know.
and so it goes.
Besides that hole in the crotch of her cashmere sweatpants wasn't going to sew itself.
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