Romance 2
"I want you to scream, goddamn it! I want you to blow your motherfucking top and finally act like you've got a fucking soul!"
I return a calm stare, wondering if it'd be more appropriate to try and appease her or to attempt to ascertain the true source of the problem. I'm sure I've read the statistics that suggest the right response before, but unfortunately I seem to have forgotten them.
"Quit looking at me like that! Just get mad or angry or cry or something! I... I- I can't handle this, Dylan. I just can't."
"Dear, please, don't get upset. I'm not. Just try and look at this rationally, I'm sure-."
"Rationally? I don't want to be fucking rational!"
"Well, what do you want?"
"A genuine emotion? A harsh word? A sign that you're still alive, that you ever were alive? Goddamn it Dylan, you're not a robot or a textbook, you're a fucking human!"
"I don't want to get emotional, it only makes us do things we might regret."
"Or might genuinely enjoy!"
"I just don't want things to get out of control."
"Oh, I'm well aware. The food, the alcohol, hell, the sex, every last fucking bit is just another step in your plan. 'Stop a moment dear, let me make sure the door is locked, the dog's been let out, and the shades are down. Oh, and I also need to turn off the TV in the other room.' Turn off the TV my ass!"
"No sense in wasting electricity."
"You just don't get it! What the fuck are you afraid of?"
"There's nothing wrong with caution and being environmentally conscious."
"There is when it destroys any passion or desire you ever had!"
"You don't want my desires. They're dark, horrid things. Things that...no. I'm controlled because I need to be. I just like feeling secure."
"Yeah, well, I hate it. I fucking hate it. It feels like I know the ending of each day before it starts. What's the point? What's the fucking point?"
Her voice softens at the end, and she sobs again. I feel helpless, paralyzed by indecision. If I go to her, she may feel like I'm imposing, or that my gesture lacks authenticity. Maybe she just wants to be alone. Or maybe she wants me to go comfort her, maybe she wants me to take her into my arms, wants me to stroke her hair, wants me to kiss her tears away.
I'd better not risk it.
"I'm leaving."
"No, don't go, let's talk about it."
"We've already fucking talked about it, Dylan. I don't have anything left to say."
"Please, this will only end badly if you leave."
"You're damn well right it will."
She slams the door. I can see her standing outside my house, tears streaming down her face as she chokes back another sob.
Should I go after her? She seemed pretty adamant about leaving, I'd better not incense her further. Hopefully she'll get over it, whatever "it" is. It drives me crazy when people can't properly express themselves.
Why do people have to be so difficult?
I return a calm stare, wondering if it'd be more appropriate to try and appease her or to attempt to ascertain the true source of the problem. I'm sure I've read the statistics that suggest the right response before, but unfortunately I seem to have forgotten them.
"Quit looking at me like that! Just get mad or angry or cry or something! I... I- I can't handle this, Dylan. I just can't."
"Dear, please, don't get upset. I'm not. Just try and look at this rationally, I'm sure-."
"Rationally? I don't want to be fucking rational!"
"Well, what do you want?"
"A genuine emotion? A harsh word? A sign that you're still alive, that you ever were alive? Goddamn it Dylan, you're not a robot or a textbook, you're a fucking human!"
"I don't want to get emotional, it only makes us do things we might regret."
"Or might genuinely enjoy!"
"I just don't want things to get out of control."
"Oh, I'm well aware. The food, the alcohol, hell, the sex, every last fucking bit is just another step in your plan. 'Stop a moment dear, let me make sure the door is locked, the dog's been let out, and the shades are down. Oh, and I also need to turn off the TV in the other room.' Turn off the TV my ass!"
"No sense in wasting electricity."
"You just don't get it! What the fuck are you afraid of?"
"There's nothing wrong with caution and being environmentally conscious."
"There is when it destroys any passion or desire you ever had!"
"You don't want my desires. They're dark, horrid things. Things that...no. I'm controlled because I need to be. I just like feeling secure."
"Yeah, well, I hate it. I fucking hate it. It feels like I know the ending of each day before it starts. What's the point? What's the fucking point?"
Her voice softens at the end, and she sobs again. I feel helpless, paralyzed by indecision. If I go to her, she may feel like I'm imposing, or that my gesture lacks authenticity. Maybe she just wants to be alone. Or maybe she wants me to go comfort her, maybe she wants me to take her into my arms, wants me to stroke her hair, wants me to kiss her tears away.
I'd better not risk it.
"I'm leaving."
"No, don't go, let's talk about it."
"We've already fucking talked about it, Dylan. I don't have anything left to say."
"Please, this will only end badly if you leave."
"You're damn well right it will."
She slams the door. I can see her standing outside my house, tears streaming down her face as she chokes back another sob.
Should I go after her? She seemed pretty adamant about leaving, I'd better not incense her further. Hopefully she'll get over it, whatever "it" is. It drives me crazy when people can't properly express themselves.
Why do people have to be so difficult?
posted by Ophelia at 12:44 AM
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