It’s hatred and rage, there is no longer room for sadness or hurt.

If there was a cure she’d take it.

They are sitting alone, this should have been a sign for her, but she ignored the gut feeling pulling at her insides. He wont look at her directly, wont make any sort of eye contact, he keeps the connection at a minimal.

“I don’t love you”, he whispers sheepishly under his breath.
“But I love you, baby, what have we been doing all this time?”, she is pleading for an answer from him, he owes her that.
“I just couldn’t stay away from you, I’m so sorry I did this too you, I just don’t love you”, he keeps his head down still. No contact, no connection.

She starts to cry she makes no noise, just silent tears falling, falling, falling to the ground and going away, away like him. He looks at her for the first time since they met that day, the look she sees in his eyes is complete shame. “If I knew this would happen I would have brought buckets for you baby”, he tries to make her smile, it doesn’t work this time. He touches her face softly, she pushes his hands away, hands she worked so hard just to hold at one point, she wants them no where near her anymore, dirty hands, she knows where those hands have been.

“It’s over”, she says.
“I’m sorry”, he whispers again and again and again.
“FUCK.YOU.”, she walks away…

It’s all over… she thinks.

They moved into their house together, everyone so excited to be on their own, out of their parents houses, to be “independent”. Five best friends living under one roof.

She did not go to his show, she stayed home alone to put her bed together, she carried all the huge ikea frame pieces up the stairs by herself into her brown room and screwed them all together. She moved that frame into every angle possible until it just “felt” right, it just happened that “feeling” right meant the bed was in a place that she could discreetly see him walk up the stairs every night when he got home, but not up the stairs into her room, no no no up the stairs into his own room, next to hers.

Everyone arrives home from the show, a house warming party is in order of course. She stares down all the men with him, gives a flirtatious smirk and points to her matress up against the living room wall, “which one of you strong handsome young men would like to move that up into my bedroom?”, he steps forward smiling back, “I’ll do it, I’ll do anything to get into your bed!”, he jokes but she knows he is serious. He drags it up the stairs, out of breath, flops it into her frame and proclaims-

“Holy shit where did this bed frame come from?!”
“I brought it up here by myself while you guys were gone”
“No way! These little arms couldn’t carry anything!”, he pokes at her skinny “useless” arms, she punches him hard in the shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Okay I get it you’re tough, you’re strong, you’re independent, anything I can do, you can do better”

They giggle at each other and go back down stairs to join in the festivities. They don’t sit alone with one another talking sweetly entranced by the others eyes gazing like you’d think two people in love would do. No no no they are un aware still of whats yet to come, but it is coming alright. All night he watches her, watches her walk, talk, the way her lips move, watches her sing, sing songs secretly to him from across the room, watches her drink, shot gun beers, punch other boys, watches her go up to her room and announce she is going to bed.

She watches him from her perfectly placed bed go into his room. She can’t stand that he is that close but still not there with her. She makes up stories of how things will be in her head but is interrupted by the sound of her name coming from outside. She listens more closely and hears it again, gets up and goes to her window to listen some more, “are you asleep?”, it is him from his window in his room, “no, not now”, she says, “you can come over if you want neighbor, I’d sure enjoy meeting you!”, she says in a silly southern accent, “alright”, he sneaks in quietly, lays on her bed, and puts his arm around her. She has never felt more complete in her life.

“What should we talk about?”, she asks
“well for starters this is the comfiest bed I have ever been in!”
“Thanks I bought it for him and I…”
“Well who would of thought it’d be perfect for us”
she smiles and forgets about ever being lonely.
“do you like beaches?”
“peaches, yea I like peaches”
“no stupid BEACHES, do you like beaches?”
“well of course! who doesn’t like beaches?”
“not us…”
“whats your favorite color?”
“green”
“you?”
“brown and blue”
“animal?”
“lion”
“psshhh I like birds I want to fly where ever I want!”

This act of questioning one another goes on for hours until the sun is almost coming up and everyone downstairs has quieted down.

“What do you like about me?”, she asks.
“I like your dresses, and how whenever you walk in them your hips sway and they swoosh around, I like the dress you wore tonight, with the little blue flowers, it brings out your eyes, oceans in those eyes…”
“Now what do you like about me?”
“This.”
They fall asleep still talking.

It’s early still he wakes up still holding her, kisses her cheek and says, “good night”, she smiles “same place, same time, tomorrow?”, she groggily asks.

He sleeps with her every night after that.

Marion loved Harry, she loved him very much. Thought maybe he was her one true love, that perhaps she really had fucked everything up before, it was all her fault. Harry had made her feel this way, and for two years she patiently waited for him, he’d come and go as he pleased with her over those two years but she still waited, still loved.

And when the time finally came she was ready and she was there. Marion noticed something different about Harry though, he was not the same boy she had fallen so deep in love with before. Not the boy who shook her hand on their first date or kept her secrets close to his heart. He was a cold and angry man, he held on to the past and refused to let go. She thought maybe with her back again he could move on and he could be like he used too, they could make each other strong.

Marion was 6 months pregnant, she had other things to think of, other things to worry about, other things to take care of, other things that were not a drug addict like Harry. But given her circumstances she felt she had no place to tell him what to do, she didn’t want him to leave her again. And the heroin made him so sweet to her, and to be honest she was fascinated by the process, curious to watch needles penetrate skin into veins so thin. She was addicted too, but in a different way, she made a vow to never do that drug, a promise to her unborn child and to herself.

He was sweet to her for months, they were in love, there was talk of starting a family and life, talk of sticking it out together forever, talk of making her daughter his own. He loved them both and they loved him. Harry always said, “After the baby comes I’ll stop using, you’ll see I can do it, I’ll be a real man and take care of both of you”. But months passed and the baby came and with that came the lies. He’d come home late at night eyes glazed over like a china doll, “Are you feeling okay?” she would ask him, “I’m fine I just ate some bad food, go to sleep I’ll watch the baby tonight”, Marion could hear him talking to her daughter, high as a kite, “Shut up, why can’t you stop crying! Stop making that noise!”, she lies in bed pretending to sleep listening making sure he doesn’t hurt her. This routine goes on for months, she acts as if she doesn’t know and he seems happy with her stupidity. But then the other woman come and more lies, Harry starts to struggle to even keep them all straight. Marion can’t take it any longer she is broken down and weak, weaker than ever before. But she still stays, she loves him, she thinks if she really loves him she will stick it out through all this with him, but what she didn’t think of was if he really loved her, he would have never done this to her, to them.

Harry hasn’t worked in months, Marion is going to two different schools and working and trying to take care of the baby. Harry is fucking other woman and shooting up heroin. Marion is trying her best to be honest with him, giving him millions of chances to be honest with her, to make things “work” again. But Harry is so caught up in his lies he can’t even get his own name straight let alone where he was last night or who or what he was doing. She takes one deep breathe and exhales, “This is not how it is supposed to be”, she thinks to herself, “I am not happy, and I am not this stupid”. She can’t bare to leave Harry though, she can’t face him long enough to leave him, she is a coward and she is scared. She texts him, “I’m not happy and this isn’t working I’m sorry bye”. She doesn’t give him anything else, she doesn’t want to hear his lies anymore. Cutting off contact was the hardest thing she would ever do. But as much as she loves him, she loves herself.

She deserves better than another Seattle junkie.

Her phone rings, “Can you come pick me up?” He asks her.

It’s hard to love someone who is exactly like you, because you know exactly what they did at that party last night with that girl who wasn’t you when you weren’t around.

She goes to pick him up.

He’s standing on the corner in greenwood, he’s hung over and looks ashamed, she knows what he did. He gets into the car, “You smell really good”, “You smell like shit” she smiles at him. He examines her face to try and see if she’s angry but she just keeps that grin on her face, that grin signifies she is about to devour him whole. Her stomach is eating itself inside of her, her mind is racing with ideas of everything he could have possibly done. She stares him down still smiling and her eyes make him feel like hes burning. If she had a steak she’d burn him on it.

“I’m sorry”
“At least you’re not lying to me, did you fuck her?”
“No! I couldn’t we were kissing and all I could think of was you, she wasn’t you she’s nothing like you, and you’re so nice you come and pick me up from her house and I get in the car and your perfume smells so good, I’m sorry baby.”

She’s still smiling, “It’s okay thanks for not lying”

Inside her head she is screaming at him, she’s crying, and hurt. He can’t see it, he’s to stupid, or maybe he does and he’s just a coward. She loves him and hes pulling her down into the sea they created and drowning her, she needs him like a panic attack.

But not much changes still, they go home singing oldies together, and in an attempt to make things up to her he makes her her favorite breakfast.