goth.
her grin wasn't a mere smile, it was open mouthed, gaping surprise of life grin. and she loved every minute of it, oh, but in a very dark way.
she had popped back into boston for a routine visit, and we were sitting on the infamous couch ... me, nursing a cigarette, and her, sipping a forty ... or maybe it was wine ... she modeled her six-inch-heeled black knee-high boots with stilettos for me. i told her what she had missed and how we had missed her.
a knock at the window. our heads turn at the same time ... only hers whips back to look at me ...
"i don't want to see him."
"i know."
i get up and prepare myself to tell typical guy, delicately, that goth has no intention of making better, making up, making friends. i look at him through the muddy glass, and i can see hope in his eyes.
"i know... i have to see her ... i've got to ..."
"apologize, i know, honey ... but you don't understand."
"I DO!" and he barrels his six-two self right on past me in the most passionate and still careful way possible.
i stop him at the door to the apartment. i ask to at least prepare her. he agrees.
"i couldn't really..."
he walks in, "stop him... she knows."
it all came back really quickly, what had happened last summer, and what we all really heard or really believed. we couldn't compete with her heart. we didn't want to. how could we?
goth stands up.
typical guy crosses and sits down.
generally, i would have left the room, but this was my apartment, now. neither of these glorious souls lived here ... making this a neutral battleground for the scars they left behind. i perched on the arm of the couch, lighting cigarette with cigarette.
they both sat there.
"i'm doing good."
"i don't give a fuck."
"how are you?"
"i'm beautiful and wonderful."
"that's so good to hear."
"fuck you."
"i just wanted to ..."
she begins to laugh.
"say i'm sorry."
her laughing gets higher, louder, consistent.
"fuck you."
i stare at him, hoping he'll stop, praying he won't keep trying. his lips get tight, and his brow furrows.
"i didn't mean to hurt you. i loved ... still love you."
her smile doesn't waver or subside. she just stares at him while she pulls out another clove. he leans over and lights it for her.
"you did, though."
"do you want to hurt me, will that help you? to see me physically in pain? go ahead, hit me, kick me, beat me ... i don't care, because it's worth it if we can start all over, feel it again."
she lowers her head, kisses her clove, and peers at him through her strange curly blonde hair ....
"it would never be enough."
she kicked him over and over again, still wearing her boots....her gaze never faltered...
"it could never be enough."
