Fish Hunting

Mar. 30th, 2010 at 1:33 AM

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, swinging his weight like a pendulum. Did he want to go already? He just got here. Plus he's the one who came knocking on my door. Such an asshole she thought. He's so in love with himself, even now. Even after all these years, his cocky attitude of quiet superiority irked her. She pulled the muscles in her face into a smile and poised herself on the edge of her seat, showing off her long legs and short dress to their best angle; she didn't want him to know that he had any effect over her. She wasn't bothered by his presence. She barely noticed. Deep down inside, she still knew that parts of him, ingrained parts from childhood, were still afraid of a pretty girl. And she would use that against him. Use it to the best of her ability. This was no long lost friend standing in her home, this was the man who had betrayed her. It wasn't good enough for him to simply leave, he had to rip her to pieces first. Feed her to the cackling hyenas he called friends, and then when all dignity was gone, he hit her with the news that he was in a relationship with *her*. Whatever. It never fails. No good deed goes unpunished. We all make mistakes, and few of us ever own up fully like she did in the cold light of day. She had more balls than he ever would. She just wished that she could now forget him. Forget all of the feelings that they once had for one another. Her body urged her on. Made her think of him everyday. The first words from her lips in the morning were utterances of his name. Involuntary. Like a woman with tourettes who can't forget a lover. She didn't want to say his name. She didn't want to think of him. But it was so natural. It came so easily to her. And she knew that it came easily to him to forget. Put everything that happened between them in the dark and forget about it. Pretend in the retelling that it was all her fault, and that he never felt anything for her. How could he? She was evil. Crazy. A fucking bitch. She knew that this was how he had portrayed her in the end. And here he stood. In her library all these years later. The clatter of plates and laughter could be heard coming from the other room. The food had arrived. "Would you like a drink?"

"No." he said.

"Suit yourself." she purred, and pulled out one ice-cold martini glass from the freezer. The cubes made a crunching noise at the bottom of the silver shaker. Did she do this right? Did the cubes come first or the alcohol? Damn. All in her head. This was all in her head. Her face remained serene like Ko-Omote. As soon as she got this drink in her, it would be easier to pretend.