JACK
It wasn't really that big of a deal, at least, I didn't think so.
I really don't know what she expects. But I do know what she knows she can expect. For me to be myself. If I wanna yell at the bartender for staring at my girlfriends tits. I'm gonna let him have it. If I see that guard at the entrance bit his lip one more time when she walks past him... I'm gonna be me. No if's, and's or but's about it. She knows I can't change. Like one day, I'm gonna wake up and ask Miranda,
"Does this dress accentuate my womanly figure?"
...or...
"Hey babe, do I have finely turned ankles in these heels?"
...
Yea, fucking right...
Miranda knows who I was, from the very beginning. But now she's upset because I spoke my mind. In a public place, no less. So here we are. In the car, heading home. I know she's pissed. I don't know why she wanted to go to that stupid event anyways. A bunch of clowns dressed in business suits. But they sqawk like chickens. Hell, they strut like chickens, with all their prancing around.
But Miranda makes this scowl with her face, thats actually kinda cute. I can't tell her it's cute or my ass'll be in the doghouse. It aint really that fun. I know I should tell her that I'm sorry and that I am a better person than to act like that, and blah blah. I've heard it all before.
But she knows how I am with all that stuff. So we'll go home we will have an argument. Now screaming matches, i actually like. Great make up sex comes after. So later on, she WILL forgive me. Easy. All I really gotta do is make her scream my name when it's time to go to bed. Problem solved.
So we get back to our place but I'm ready for it. Ready for the argument. She won't know that I'm already horny for our inevitable angry make up sex.
...
But Miranda stays quiet. Which... I wasn't expecting. Several hours past. She hasn't spoken one word to me. I keep checking on her behind her back. But when she turns in my direction, I put on my smug face, and act like I don't give two shits. I know that makes her blood boil.
I got bored so I start watching t.v. Nothing interesting is on but I ain't even paying attention, really. I'm just waiting for her to explode on me. It IS coming. I think I'm getting good at being patient. I smile toothily at myself. She gets up from the couch and goes to the bathroom I think. Hell, maybe I'll yell at her when she comes back from the bathroom, just to get things started. Maybe I ain't patient after all. Whatever.
An half hour goes by, and I didnt even realize. She couldn't have gone to bed. No way. Without yelling at me? That ain't right. Wheres my angry make up sex? Let me go see what the hell is going on.
I tip-toed in our apartment. I wanted to sneak up on her. And when I get to the bedroom... she's crying into her pillow.
"Miranda?"
...
MIRANDA
I really don't understand how hard could it really be? You just have to act like a... adult. I know thats not really her strong suit. Well, what is her strong suit. Breaking things? Breaking my fortifications and making me see and feel things i never had before? Yes, thats certainly it. She forces her way in, and certainly leaves her mark. And when she's done, nothing is the same.
I sometimes ponder, what our torrid relationship has evolved into. It is much farther than either of us could have possibly predicted.
When we do finally make it home, after the agonizing long silent car ride home, i can't wait to crawl into bed and just forget about today. She knows exactly what she's done to anger me. But it looks like her inner child has emerged again, and she couldn't have possibly done anything wrong. I know what she has planned. I know what she thinks i'm going to do. I saw her smirk, behind my back. Well this time, i don't feel like arguing. I just want my bed. And no, I do not wish for her companionship tonight.
Some time passes and she finally realizes something is dire wrong. Did she finally notice that I couldn't win the battle over my own tears? I certainly did not plan on crying. I've lost control on my bloody emotions. But here i am, in the bed, naked, crying to myself. I feel pathetic.
I can hear her coming, but I don't really care. There's really no need to care. She calls my name gently, when she enters the room. But she stands there quiet. I dont want to answer her. I've stopped crying but if I speak, my words will be stuck in my throat. With what I want to say, it must be a clear voice. She must be made to understand.
I think she calls me again, I am not sure. I am not really listening to her. I am only listening to the words in my head. I steel my resolve. It's time. I have to tell her this.
"Jack... I want a divorce."