she poured the pills onto the counter in front of her, counting them softly with the tip of her fingers. thirteen different little candies stretched out end-to-end along the edge of the counter. she remembered one night she had clutched that place, her heart catching in her chest, with a pair of arms around her that would have done anything to save her.
she felt sick.
each pill slipped down easier than the one before. quite a cocktail for this late at night, going down with milk instead of water. he poured her glasses of milk all the time, even when she didn't ask, even when she didn't want any. he did it because she liked milk, and he did anything she wanted and anything she liked. if it would make her smile, he did it.
she swallowed hard, a sour taste in the back of her throat.
she walked to the sink and put her glass down, the white color pooling in the bottom. she thought about dinners and notes he had written her. she had noticed he was writing poetry about her, for all the world to see, but this was nothing new. for him to be writing long, sick poetry about how he could never live without her was never anything new, he had been doing that before they ever were together. in fact, it revealed more about him than she ever understood.
she threw up in the sink, the glass falling over with the force of it.
she spit and cried, "god make him stop loving me."
"i'm begging you."
1 comment:
Interesting.
You should nominate me for "Worst Commenter Ever" some day.
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