“nothing, sorry.. keep watching”
he placed his hand on top of hers and stroked. her hand twitched. he lifted his off hers and placed it back in his lap.
“sorry for, that”
“just one kiss and-“
“I didn’t..I wasn’t talking to you. sorry”
“stop saying that”
“that you’re sorry”
“shit, i don’t mean to-“
he trembled as they walked down the elaborate stairs. he stumbled. she walked briskly. the audience was silent in the theatre, as the show continued on to the third act. he and she would never know the ending.
“please, stop. i’m sorry!”
she walked briskly still.
“if you say sorry one more time..”
“i won’t! just stop. let me explain.”
she made it to the main doors and pushed. they didn’t move. she pushed harder with her whole body. they didn’t move. she pulled, and then poured out onto the street of hot air and mist.
she went to the curb and crossed her arms, her green dress billowed in the wind. he stayed back, watching her eagerly, pleading with every muscle in his body for her to just look at him. she stood there, her back to him. he waited.
then, she turned.
“what the hell was that, Ben?”
“i… i don’t know. i couldn’t help it.”
“you couldn’t help yourself from kissing my neck?”
he looked down.
“no, i couldn’t help it. i couldn’t help myself from kissing you. please… kiss me.”
she walked off through the mist and steam that emanated from the sewers below on that warm summer evening. he stared at the ground.
he sat alone in his room, one light on. he ate spaghettios, which he only ate when he was upset and needed to continue hurting his body. he liked pain paired with pain. he liked being the victim, probably more than anything else. but he was also a predator. he drank cheap vodka straight most nights. he would hide his emotions until they came spilling out of him at the worst possible times. he lost friends and family over petty passive aggressive statements that echoed into life-changing problems. he wasn’t ugly on the outside. and he had a few decent thoughts from time to time. and he loved her. a lot.
she went out for a few drinks at her favorite bar. she met up with friends and they bought her champagne. collectively they laughed about Ben and what an ass he was to even think he stood a chance with her. she merely befriended him for the free glasses of wine and occasional opera seats. she knew he loved her, but it still surprised her that he allowed himself to show it. he was weak, cowardly, and vain, but she knew he had darker secrets. she knew he loathed himself, and that knowledge was her power.
‘kiss me!” her friends mocked and laughed as they so often did with stories of Ben. he was just a punchline to an endless joke that would become his life.
as he stumbled down the endless stairs he realized he was his own worst enemy. he realized this a couple times a week, but it still never seemed to make an impression on him. he would not change. he would play the predator in quiet, and the victim out loud. its not like he hadn’t been rejected before. and its not like he thought he wasn’t lame. but he also knew how to lure a girl in. he always had a date to the opera. he always could find a willing girl at a bar. a victim. someone he could play a game with without them knowing.
his obsession with the weak would scare anyone, except no one knew.