11:13 pm
“Faster” she squeals.
The still dank air I feel breeze against my back has shifted. The low rumblings of thunder bounce from wall to wall before sinking into the tattered sails of my spirit. The approaching storm is coming and yet I remain listless and anchored. Blame it on my work. Blame it on poor life planning . Blame it on the economy. Blame it on 24 hour news coverage of yet another celebrity divorce that clogs up our morning conversations with wasteful talking points like “Who gets custody of the kids” and “Why do men cheat?”
Whatever is that I care to blame, it doesn’t help me right now. Right now, my deflated, limp cock slinks out from my girlfriends unsatisfied crotch. I lay next to her, apologizing for the dead performance. I make up some shitty excuse.
“We have tomorrow to look forward to. Don’t worry. You are forgiven.” she jokes, nudging her head underneath my arms, while holding onto my hands. She talks about our future together. Her moving in with me, and how nice it would be to wake up in each others arms. The word marriage is thrown around a couple of times. You can feel my heart skip.
“We can make it. We both have steady jobs. I love you.” she whispers. Rolling to my side, facing her I ask how certain she was about love. If she really found it in me. She laughs at how she can read my thoughts. How she knows what I’m going to do even before I know what I’m going to do. How our taste in music is the same. And how both our shared knowledge of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” is more then enough to prove we were compatible.
I look into her hopeful eyes and feel my stomach turn. I want to say ‘I don‘t love you.’ That I find her taste in music horrible and poor – at best. That she always confuses the character Charlie for Mac from ’It’s always Sunny.’ How marrying her would be a mistake. Instead, like a fucking pussy I smile and agree. I say whatever it is I need to say to make her feel happy.
Somewhere along in life we all become convincing con artists: knowing just what to say in order to get your way. A well placed word here, or well planned action there. Do it enough times, and you become used to it. You find yourself believing your own lies after awhile even – conning yourself. Immersed into your created fantasy world that you’ve draped over your own eyes. We refuse to pull ourselves away because we prefer to see what we want to see. At times, staring at the cold hard truth can be too cruel. And so we bury any resentments for our deception down deep. In doing so, you sink down along with it until you’ve become totally consumed.
