(I was tempted to put 'Part Deux' there. Could you tell?)
Right, where was I? Ah yes, being driven back up the M5, night-driving, sodium lights and me, memories and thoughts slipping through my mind as I dozed, semi-drifted through this radiant glow of having found this guy. Behind me, my mate's friend, thinking I was asleep said...
'She's not serious, is she? He's a prick!'
A murmur of agreement from my friend. But I, drunk on a pair of blue eyes, lazed further back into the half-light. Midnight. I got dropped off, still smiling, dancing drunkenly up my stairs....I put his number into my phone, carefully tapping in the digits, securing it, as if to heart, to my lowly SIM card. I lay back, probably pleasured myself with the thought, any thoughts of him, and curled up to sleep....
The next day, I didn't text him. Resolutely difficult, but it's what all those books say, isn't it? Men like to hunt. Men like to chase. Men don't like to be shepherded to the hearts of others, ordered about by agendas that go against their own....let them set the trap, let them watch their prey, high-heeled, hot-footed, girlishly teasing them with their silence. Thought precludes love. If I love, I don't think about how to pull reciprocal feelings from the other, and if they love me back, I doubt they do, either. It was mutual but calculated. He always had the upper hand.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment