His hands shook as he walked home. Not from the cold, as the rain soaked through his coat and deep into his skin. If I had full control, I would have strangled him. All I could muster were these weak tremors.
Inside, or wherever I am, I rage, I scream, and I tear apart anything I can in this liminal prison. I’m no longer thinking about my plan. It’s been dissolved in a boiling vat, and I have no concern whether we both die tonight or not.
There is something different that has been tangled up in my usual feelings of sorrow, and helplessness. It’s so bitter that it withers away in my mouth. I’ve never failed at something before. It’s hard to when you have no free will. It’s foreign and repulsive. And yet, like any eyesore, I can’t look away. I feel like a pig, rolling itself in putrid sludge, and though the scent stings my nostrils, I know that I revel in it.
I said that the plan would require leaving many things up to chance, but it almost feels worse that after everything went my way, A still found a way out of it. There is a possibility that I don’t know him as well as I thought. We’ve shared so much for so long, but he existed before me. I can’t forget that. Never did I believe he would push Clara away if given another chance.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
He arrives back home, soaking wet, his parents having gone to sleep hours ago. The only sound throughout the house is the soft dripping of water onto the floor. I quiet my anger. It’s out of habit. In so much silence, I’ve always been careful to tread lightly.
Not caring about the trail of water he leaves, he walks to the kitchen, pulls out a beer and drinks the entire thing in one go. He opens another one, and sits down on the floor staring into space. These actions are entirely his own. I was too angry to push him toward any further states of inebriation.
Thinking of Clara returning to the table, seeing that he has left her still makes me shake with anger, but I’m able to compartmentalize. After A is reduced to a wispy memory, I can right these wrongs. Perhaps there is another avenue to that end.
As I observe this pathetic, dripping mass, I see the truth. I’ve been operating in the shadows for far too long. I’m think it’s time that the two of us have a little chat.