“Mark, I have nothing.”
“What? You always have something.”
“Yes, well today I had the girls all day, because someone who shall remain nameless but who is named Mark said that he wouldn’t be working today. This Mark guy said I would have time to write. This same nameless person who is named Mark then worked most of the day, leaving me with the girls. Which is fine. The girls are lovely. But they thought they were going to get to spend the day with Mark, who turned out not to be available. So instead they spent the day bitching at me about how I wasn’t this Mark guy. And now my brain is fried and it is getting late and I have nothing to write but bitchiness about this person who shall remain nameless but is named Mark.”
“This Mark guy sounds like an asshole.”
“Little bit.”
“So write about a fight.”
“OK, but we are not really having a fight.”
“No, but write a fight. Write about an ending. Write about a break-up. Get it all out and then forgive this person who is named Mark and move on with your day.”
“I don’t do fiction.”
“Yes, you do . . . once in a while you do. Unless you really are sleeping with that Phil guy?”
“Oh yeah! I do like Phil.”
“So write it. Write it and be done with it and then come have a beer with me. I am awesome.”
“How long should it be?”
“How long are your posts generally?”
“Maybe 900 words.”
“OK, so write an introduction explaining about the Mark guy and what a fuck-up he is, and then use the leftover words for the fight.”
Hmmmm.
Here we go . . . .
The air between them shimmered.
“You have nothing to say?”
He stared at her, “What do you want me to say?”
“I am not going to do both sides of this conversation. You are either in this with me or you are not.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. You want me to apologize? I apologize.”
“You drive me insane. You can’t simply apologize and think this is done. Talk to me.”
He took a breath and let it out slowly, “You are angry. You are threatening me. I hear you issuing ultimatums.”
“And?”
“I don’t respond to threats well. You threaten me, I am going to walk away.”
“I need you to stand and fight for us.”
“Why?”
“Seriously? Fight for us.”
“I will stand with you against the world.”
“But?”
“But I will not fight with you to hold my place. I am either the man you want to stand beside you or I am not.” He brushed her hair from her face, looked into her eyes, “You are enough for me. You don’t need to prove yourself to me.”
She stared at him.
He cupped her chin in his hand, “You are enough. You owe me no explanations and you owe me no proof.”
She lifted her chin from his hand and spoke fiercely, “Enough? I am enough? I am more. How do you fail to see that I am more?”
He dropped his hand, “How do you not know that enough is everything?”
“Have you always offered so little?”
“I have always offered what I have to give.”
She cupped her hands together, “I hold here what you have offered.” She flattened her hands and blew suddenly into her palms, as though blowing the seeds from a dandelion, “That’s how little is required to release what you have offered . . . a puff of air and you are gone.”
He cupped his own hands, “I too hold what you have offered, but unlike you, I know that words and the breath used to expel those words can cast these offerings adrift.” He spoke roughly, his throat clenched and his voice raw, “I hold what you have offered, but unlike you, I see the fragility of these offerings. I do not uncup my hands. I do not speak harsh words.”
He extended his arms, “I want to keep what is in these hands of mine.”
She lunged forward and smacked his hands apart.
She moved again to bring a hand up hard against his cheek.
They listened together to the ragged breathing that filled the space between them.
She raised a hand to strike him again, but this time he caught her wrist and pulled her into him. He bent to kiss her, and when she twisted away, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forced his mouth to hers. He pinned her arm behind her back, whispered in her ear, “I am enough. Say I am enough.”
She said nothing.
He pulled her down with him. He pinned her beneath him and ripped at her blouse, grabbing and biting at her flesh, “Say I am enough.”
She moaned and arched her body into his, but refused to speak the words.
He released her, suddenly uncertain.
She stared up at him in unspoken challenge.
He slapped her.
Felt the sting.
She smiled.
He slapped her again to make the smiling stop.
He fell upon her.
Into her.
Angry molten sex.
Afterward, she curled around him, ran a gentle finger down his side, “You are enough.”
He heard the words.
Too late.
His hands were empty.
He cupped them to his face.
And wept.
****************
People?
I got it in under 900 words!
This is extra here . . . just a reminder that comments are closed for the summer.
Now where’s that awesome man with my beer?
