"Isn't this everything you wanted," she questioned as her eyes slowly filled with tears.
She set a soft gaze upon the shadowy figure of his body in the darkness. Mascara began to run ugly black streaks down her pale cheeks like tire tracks on fresh snow.
She grabs a handful of the carefully stacked bills on the glass table and throws it in his direction scattering like doves being released at a wedding.
She takes three deep breaths before speaking again.
"Please. Mercy me. Let me fall out of love. . . before you fuck her. I beg you. I gave you all my pills. I gave you all that I need. Baby. . . I see that she is beautiful. . . the most beautiful by far. I see that she makes you feel good, 'bout who you are. . . "
It was too late. He'd been sleeping with the Russian model for quite some time now. Had she seen the tabloid pictures? He just stared blankly at the traffic light below as it changed from yellow to red. She slowly rose from the couch and moved towards him still speaking, questioning.
"But you see how much I need you. . .
You see how much I care. . .
You see how much I care. . .
You see how much I care?"
All he could suddenly think about was his own needs.
She takes his hand and leads him to the California King bed. Sex appeal, why not?
This is what I come back to every time.
I've been spendin' all my time. Livin' for the thrill. All this money that I've thrown, all this liquor that I've spilled. I deserve this. I deserve her body on my mattress.
"So when you ask me what I do, all I do is hurt myself. Inspiration's all I know. Inspiration's all I have. So I deserve this." he said as he stared at the ceiling fans' rickety motion above them. The room was moist, sticky from the rain that had fallen earlier in the evening.
She rolls onto her side and looks up at the side profile of his face.
"What do I do now that you're gone?
What do I do when I'm alone?"
She then laid back flat on her back, the same position as him then quietly spoke again,
"You've been running in my head. . .
What do I do when I need sex?"
It sounded like she let out a small sigh.
She suddenly sprung up and straddled him, grabbing his damp black shirt clenched in her fists.
"You're my everything. . .
You're my heart. . . "
She managed to mutter out those words before swallowing what felt like a lump in her throat. She could feel the heat rushing back to her face as if she were about to break down in tears again.
"You're my everything. . .
You're my heart. . . "
Her voice began to crack, almost like a squeal.
He grabs the pillow from the opposite side of the bed and adds it to his side stuffing it with the two already behind his head as he let out a long labored sigh.
"I thought I told you
A long time ago
Don't you fall in love. . . "
She leaps off the bed and floats over to the glass table. On her knees she blows a line, grabs the bottle of wine off the table and retreats to a corner of the room. She sits down on the hardwood floor with her back against the cold chill of the rustic red bricks. The light reflects off of the rain stained windows through the blinds. Green, red, yellow lights. She wraps her arms around herself. Tall empty are bottles strewn about the room. She presses her fingertips against the sides of her head.
He could glimpse tears forming in her eyes. She gives a whimper. He casually gets off the bed and walks over to the window. He places a finger between the blinds to see water rushing into the sewer below. He then leans up against a wall opposite of her and lights up a cigarette then folds his arms. Cigarette smoke rises in the darkness.
Her whimper grows into a sob. He can hear her breathing convulsions. As she curls into fetal position on the floor. He can feel a burning sensation in the center of his chest with every drag. He crushed the cigarette butt against the ash tray. He grabs his coat and his keys. He steps over her body as he heads for the door. She grabs his pant leg wailing. He tears his leg from her.
The doorknob is cold as he turns it. The lights in the hall dimly flicker as he walks away.
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