expletive, fragments, Non classé, prose

Babe, I’m a genius but nobody knows it but me

“This is it,” she said, “we’re done.”
“What? What do you mean, ‘we’re done’?”
“Me, you, this whole thing. We’re done.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“Pack your things, grab your beers. Get out.”
She remained calm while saying that, and he knew that, this time, she meant it. Every word. Her left hand was doing something weird.
“Is it because of last night?”
“Last night. Yesterday. The day before. Every night. Every goddamn other day. Now get out.”
“But…”
“GET. OUT. I’ll call the cops if I have to.”
“But …”
That’s the moment where she snapped. She went from not moving and staring at him fiercely to roaring around in the room, picking up his belongings and cramming the whole of it in a filthy bag, in what seemed like a matter of seconds.
“All you do is sit around all day, get drunk, jerk off and when I get home from work, working my butt off for you, you’d … you do this ! You asshole!” she yelled.
He took a step back.
“I’m sorry. I swear I am. And I don’t do nothing babe. I write, babe. It’s just that no one wants to publish me. Yet. But it’ll come someday babe, trust me, babe.”
“Fuck you. Don’t call me babe. Take your fucking shit, your cum-stained pants and socks and get the hell away from me and from my life. Do you hear me?”
“Difficult not to when you’re yelling…”
“FUCK YOU!”
She threw a sock in his face, but missed. The sock fell flat on the ground, stretched, stained, tired.
“And aaaah, yes. You ‘write’. Of course you do. You write all those perverted twisted stuff in that dirty notebook you carry around all day. I bet it has seen more puke than good words. You’re not a writer, you’re not an artist. You’re a goddamn drunk, a pretender. Just a waste.”

Again she was back to standing still in front of him, staring intensely as he was looking down at his feet. These, he thought, have carried me this far, but I eventually end up in crap no matter where I go – I should probably note that, it’ll make for a good line in a poem. He stepped forward, and they got face to face, she was holding her stare, not backing down from her words, from her decision. She was holding her ground perfectly.
“If that’s what you want,” he started, “you got it. I’ll go.”
She didn’t answer, although he expected her to. Scenes like this one had been happening on a regular basis in their recent past, not to that extent however. Once upon a time, they had been very passionate lovers, deep deep lovers, soulmates even, he thought to himself. But that’s how it is; life has a tendency to tear things apart, gaps form where you expect it least, and just like that, in and out of a day, in a blinking moment, just a vanishing second, you fall down. A sort of bottomless pit of despair – I should probably note that, it’ll make for a good title, he thought. He went towards the door, looked around, looked at her. This time there was no turning back, there was no avoiding it. He searched for a good final sentence but nothing striking came.
“Take care.”
The door slammed behind him, and she could hear his steps in the hallway. One, two, three, four, five. The other door slammed. He was gone for good.
“You too,” she answered.

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