Hi Sweetie, I hate you.
"Nitsudian I want to break up with him."
There, she thought confidently, I’ve finally said it out loud. Mitsuki waited for an answer nervously, habitually slipping her thumbnail into her mouth and chewing while Nitsudian studied her face. Of course what he said probably wouldn’t change her mind, in fact he’d probably be all for it. She could just picture the way his face would glow in pure bliss, he’d wrap those strong arms around her, and she’d want to faint with glee.
Even if he doesn’t agree with me, which I’m sure he will, it won’t even put the slightest bit of a crack in my resolve. This has to stop, and I need to break loose from the awful the ball and chain.
Nitsudian didn’t say anything, Mitsuki felt a growing irritation, she wanted some sort of affirmative or praise for the first mature decision she’d made since this relationship started. He did slip his arms around her and pull her close, she shut her eyes enjoying the rich scent of cologne and firm body pressed against her, but something was horribly off.
This innocent gesture had long since lost its casual appeal of comfort, now she desperately needed it as badly as every drop of caffeine she had to keep coursing through her system. She slipped a hand up his shirt; the steady heartbeat was like a calm ocean tide beneath her fingertips each beat a splash against natural granite cliffs. As much as she enjoyed the personal hiatus that every touch held for her, it was almost as if there was just a plain serenity that couldn’t be shaken off.
Her fingers danced on his skin lightly, he didn’t object or encourage, even when they moved up to his strong chin and gently stroked the growing stubble he remained silent as ever. The skin was course with bristly hairs which sent a small shiver of guilty pleasure through her again.
Finally his hands pushed hers away and he stood looking down into her eyes, the deep blue a mask of emotions, his rich baritone made her feel like a rebuked child as he casually responded.
"Are you sure you want to, it’s irreversible."
Do I want to?
His image conjured in her mind as abruptly as spring lightning, the flabby disproportional pear like body and thick bullet head. His smooth baby hands were large and clumsy and moved across her shoulder as bumbling sausages of childish ideas. They held none of the calm grace and seductive ease that Nisudian wielded. Weak trunk like legs would jut out from faded blue-jean shorts gleaming and glistening with sweat on pasty deathlike skin.
She could already recall with great distaste the lazy whiny voice asking what she wanted to do, then refusing to do anything that the selfish tub of lard didn’t want to do. His full lower lip would push out from his mouth like a deformed shelf of fat ready to catch any fly or wearied insect that needed a rest stop to regroup.
Droopy did nothing to attempt appeasing her easily agitated state lately, or ever for that matter. He won’t even go shopping with me, she thought bitterly, a strong metallic taste mingling with a familiar feeling of rage. The last time she had attempted to buy a nice shirt to perhaps flatter the poor shape his body was mercilessly forced to endure, he stood there as a pouting child refusing to try on anything and giving that awful sloppy puppy grin. The same puppy grin that would haunt many work-shifts as he stared possessively while she tried to block him out and focus on her job.
As if his infantile ways weren’t enough for Mitsuki to bear, she also carried the burden of his less than favorable work habits. He thought nothing of insulting a harder working managers or bosses, demoting them to a less than respectable level, claiming they had no power what so ever to control his paycheck. Then whined and bitched like a deprived two-year-old that no raise was ever achieved by his hard working ways.
As if he even knows what hard work is. Mitsuki could hear the bitterness in her had and cringed, it was something that she couldn’t even suppress mentally. She routinely focused and achieved through eight hour or more shifts, while he was lax and unproductive during his five and half-hour shifts. Even a monkey can make a sandwich and occasionally sweep a floor, a monkey could probably wipe down a table better too.
Actually, she began to think more logically, they probably don’t want that kind of image haunting the Sub’s Day sandwiches. If he was promoted that would be an ill-advised move at best. Paying someone to ogle customers and drool over wilted lettuce wasn’t something that seemed very economically sound anyway.
His favorite shoes alone were something that not even Frankenstein would have dreamt of touching. Sloppy ratty tennis shoes that flapped and gaped open showing every speck of dust, which was a lot considering that he had no motivation to clean his shoes ever, and made his feet appear seven times larger than they probably were. The T-shirts were the worst by far, hideous things that looked as if they belonged to some poor street ruffian in a Dickensian novel instead of a boy from a reasonably good family on the North end of town.
That’s not the worst though, is it Mitsuki? It gets much more awful…
Mitsuki’s mind pulled the memory of their first kiss with grave disgust and slight nausea, the puckered mouth meeting hers in a pathetic attempt at the definition of a kiss. She only dreamed that maybe someday she could literally burn that memory from her mind, the feeling of his inexperienced lips on hers, the forced endurance. He didn’t even bring up the most biological urges for intercourse of any kind, at best she had grown a bit of tolerance for him.
Every time his lips touched hers, she vainly tried to think of something else, often her best story plots were concocted while he pretended he knew how to kiss. If she was lacking the luxury of caffeine and found herself caught in a deadly web of writers’ block, she found that only 10% of the time could she even think of anything decent to say about the experience. Actually, her happiness with him at any given time was generally at low 40% a month.
Her mind had desperately sought ways to gently sever the tie forever, and cut him from her life with a swift lethal blow, that wouldn’t upset his family too much. Nothing had been found adequate, and as a result she was now nearing the six-month anniversary of cruel and unusual punishment for any and all past sins of her fellow women.
I deserve happiness too, he’ll probably get a new girlfriend… in college. Her mind laughed mockingly, the idea of anyone voluntarily taking on the train wreck of her current boyfriend. BEFORE he was emotionally shredded by a relationship he had foreseen as lasting forever, he had been a indisputable loser. What if he kills himself, and I’m to blame? Guiltily she thought the only thing that would make her regret breaking up with him was having to sit there while the police questioned about his mental stability.
"What he mentally stable?"
Of course not, did you see what he used to wear? "It appeared so."
"Did he seem depressed at all to you?"
When he didn’t get his own spoiled way or if I said no, then yes he pouted and moped like a five-year-old rich brat. Or if I even looked at a guy he would throw the most insane temper tantrums. "No, not at all, this is just so horrible."
"Are you holding up okay?"
I’m finally rid of the brat, what do you think? You assholes are lucky I’m not doing handstands and parading around in a THANK GOD I’M FREE shirt. "It’s just so… sudden… and awful… it’s absolutely awful." As awful as winning the lottery and getting to keep it ALL….