Saturday, 15 September 2012

Good intention, incredibly poor execution.

Those loved have long since gone
I barged into his condo at eightish this morning. I didn't bring breakfast or plan on staying, I just unlocked the door, walked down the hall and entered his room, flipping on banks of light as I went. He rolled over and squinted and broke his handsome face in half with a frown before repairing it into pleasant, although surprised, delight.

Bridget. Did I miss a date?

You didn't go away-away, did you? You just stopped speaking directly to me and have continued to work with Ben?

Did you talk to Ben? Batman sits up and reaches for his pajama bottoms. He swings his legs out and slides them on, standing up. The pants slip down low over his hips and I am immune suddenly. This is good.

I'm talking to you.

He rakes his hand through his hair and smiles in the most cynical, bitter way. Are you really naive enough to think that you could tell me to go away and I just...would?

I don't th-

Right, you don't think. You just act impulsively depending on the day and we run around behind the scenes keeping you safe. Jesus. I completely understand Lochlan when he points out that you, my dear, are a full-time job.

I asked you to stop. I'm not your burden.

I can't walk away from this in good conscience.

I'm not your mess to clean up. Feel free to go if I'm so much work. I let you off the hook. I told you to leave. Don't act so noble.

And leave you to be eaten by the wolves? What kind of man does that?
He stops and looks at the sky briefly. Oh, right. Jacob did that, didn't he?

I slap him.

Go, Bridget. Leave. Right now.

(Today's encounter is brought to you by my cosmic ability to repeat history. Note the reminder I am not someone's problem followed by a good hard slap. YEESH.)