a/n – one shot fic, I know its rushed I did it in an hour, comments critiques welcome. But yes I know its very rushed. Enjoy!
Disclaimer – I do not own, or have anything to do with Sex and the city, I simply came up with the plot.
Broken Record
Nobody understood it, nobody but me at least. They all questioned me, wondering if it could be true, that I, Carrie Bradshaw, ex-writer for The New York Times, foe of many but a friend to even more, described upon many occasions as "The Perfect New Yorker", Could have made a mistake like this. It wasn't on purpose, nor was it planned or thought of; it just…happened. Every single minute of every single day I regret it. When I look in the mirror, all I feel is disgust. What have I become? How could all of this have happened in the course of half a year.
It seemed like the perfect plot for an episode of Law and Order, I could picture myself on the couch, laughing at the site of some tall blonde Bimbo, prancing around in her 500 dollar Stilettos, and designer dress. Only to soon after realize that, that Bimbo, was their impression of me.
The cops would bust her, search around and soon find the revolver tucked in a pair of socks in the 3rd drawer down, of her antique dresser. I would snap away, hearing the sound of my heart beating faster, as if it was playing from the stereo. My eyes would glance at my very own antique dresser, the perfect dresser. The 3rd drawer would start to shake, almost as if attempting to pry itself open, to reveal my very own revolver. The revolver which would change my life forever.
It seemed my life was perfect at first, I had a great job, doing what I love, writing for the New York Times, about what I love most. Sex . I had great friends, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte.
I had the most pairs of shoes you could think of. It was as if the closet was for my clothes and the house was for my shoes.
And Most importantly, I was finally away from him. Him. The man that had made me cry on more accounts then I can count on my hands. The one who left me with a 1 litre tub of Ben and Jerrys, on more occasions then I would have liked to remember. Big. That was his name, Mr.Big. Implying his Height and everything else.
It was as if he was a broken record. The kind you play for hours on end, praying that each time it changes, fixes. But yet it never does, so you part with it. Put it in the back of your closet, or on a dusty shelf. The one that all your friends say to throw out, 'Whats the point of a broken record anyway?' they would say, but you would keep it, because you thought you saw something in it. So months later you would take it out again. When you felt bad, and play it, hoping that if you left it long enough it had in fact fixed itself, it was in fact better. But you where always wrong.
He had humiliated me, angered me, and ruined my relationship with so many men, I decided enough was enough.
I sent him packing, weeks later he told me he was moving to Paris, permanently. I cried, not out of sadness but of happiness. I could finally move on, he was finally gone.
But I soon found out that forever was only a few months in Big's case. Now I don't know if he got fired or if he just woke up one morning and said 'Hey lets ruin Carries life again." But either way it worked.
He came back, Knocking at my door, as if he wanted some sort of a pathetic booty call. Drunk, dirty and air-lagged.
And as many times as I told him to leave, as many times as I closed the door he kept knocking. I warned him to leave, that I would take sterner measures if he did not leave. But he continued.
I had no other choice but to let him in, and as I did he gave me those eyes. The single 2 things in this world that even if I didn't want to, could change my mind in an instant, and the next thing I knew it was morning, and he was beside me.
I became furious. How could he have done this again! I kicked him out and prayed that I would never see him again.
Weeks later, after having my normal Thursday lunch with the girls, I received a call on my cell phone, my by-monthly STD/HIV test results where in. I quickly got a cab and drove down, soon to find out that Big ( the only man I had slept with since my last test) had in fact given me HIV aids.
He had done it again. Except 10 times worse. He had ruined my life all over again.
So out of impulse I did it. It was as if I had blacked out and woken up in his apartment, with a gun to his head. Before I could control myself , my finger slipped- I had shot Mr. Big.
And that is what leads me here. Behind these bars, as my friends live their lives day by day, as they fall in love, get married and live their very own happily ever after. I shot the only man I ever truly loved.
I had finally let go of my old, broken record.