How could she?
After everything they'd gone through together, after all the promises they'd made,
after all the plans they'd made
for each other, how could she do this to him? How could such lovely lips
spill such poison?
He felt dizzy, gripping the edge of his desk to steady himself.
That unfaithful bitch, how could she hurt him like this? He stared down at the band
of gold on his left ringfinger and
was suddenly seized with an urge to rip it from his hand and toss it in her face.
Finger and all.
Damn her. Damn her to hell.
Unable to stand anymore, he sank back into his chair and started to cry. Damn her
for this, too. He couldn't remember
the last time he'd cried, not like this. Hot salty tears coursed down his face,
landing with wet plops on the
papers scattered across his desk. His face felt contorted, his mouth twisted into
a grotesque parody of
a smile as he sobbed.
He'd never cried like this. Never in his life, and that made him cry even harder.
How could such a frail-looking woman reduce him to this state?
Perhaps because he loved her.
He hated himself for that. He would give anything to hate her right now.
But he knew that could never happen. He could never hate Lucrecia, his wife,
the mother of his child.
"God, why can't I hate her...? I mean... that would make it s-so much EASIER,
damn it all!"
He wanted so badly to hate her, but couldn't.
Hate... he had experience with that. In his life he'd hated many people, and of course
been returned the favour.
Yes, Hate was no stranger to him. He was comfortable with hate. It was so much easier
to hate
someone, to write them off as scum, and then be done with it. Hate didn't twist
a knife in his heart.
Hate didn't make him collapse at his desk and cry like a little girl. Hate was
just so easy.
Hate was just SO much more conveinant.
But where there is love, there can be no hate. He understood that now, and hated
himself all the more.
He still loved her. Nothing could ever change that. He would love her
until he died, and that sickened him.
No. Nothing could ever make him hate her.
He found himself staring at that fucking ring again. Yeah, he could remember
that day, the day they'd took those vows, til death do us part, and all that good stuff.
Hell, he'd even MEANT it all! When he looked into her eyes that day and said those
two simple words he'd meant them with every ounce of himself.
Had she meant it as well? He wanted to think so. God, he hoped so. He'd loved her
more than anything,
and he believed she felt the same.
Was it all a lie? It killed him to think that. How could someone speak of
eternal love and devotion and
not mean it? How could someone say those words and not be entirely sure of
them? Worse yet, how could someone
know them to be false and yet say them anyway?
He sniffled, trying to keep a new flood of tears from rising. How the fuck
could she do this?
The ring. Fucking ring. It was still there taunting him, it's very existence
twisting the blade deeper. He wanted to take it off and throw it away. But
he couldn't do that either. He HAD meant everything he'd said, and nothing
could ever make him mad enough or hurt enough to forget those vows.
It would have to stay.
But would she? He somehow doubted that. She obviously felt no reservation about cheating,
what made him think she wasn't open to divorce as well?
God he couldn't handle that. He couldn't picture being without her, let alone
picture her being with that fucking Turk.
Ugh. The thought along was enough to make him start crying again, but somehow it wasn't.
He could hate that Turk. Very easily. In fact he already did. He hadn't liked him
from the moment he met him, so it would be nothing at all to hate him. That made
him feel a bit better, having something to focus this...
What was is anyway? What the hell could you call this crushing feeling inside of him?
Hurt? That didn't seem nearly strong enough for it. Scraped knees hurt.
Bumped heads hurt. Hell, even feelings could get hurt, but this was something
totally alien to him. Something that went far beyond something as simple as hurt.
There was anger there too of course, but again never like anything he'd ever felt.
Anger, grief, anxiety, a whole cornocopia of emotions. There were so many things
there it would be impossible to classify it. All he knew for certain was that
he was miserable.
Misery. That was it. He had unknowingly hit the nail on the head.
But misery wouldn't solve anything. If something was to be done, he would have
to get up and do it. It was plain and simple to him now. The Turk had to go.
End of story.
After everything they'd gone through together, after all the promises they'd made,
after all the plans they'd made
for each other, how could she do this to him? How could such lovely lips
spill such poison?
He felt dizzy, gripping the edge of his desk to steady himself.
That unfaithful bitch, how could she hurt him like this? He stared down at the band
of gold on his left ringfinger and
was suddenly seized with an urge to rip it from his hand and toss it in her face.
Finger and all.
Damn her. Damn her to hell.
Unable to stand anymore, he sank back into his chair and started to cry. Damn her
for this, too. He couldn't remember
the last time he'd cried, not like this. Hot salty tears coursed down his face,
landing with wet plops on the
papers scattered across his desk. His face felt contorted, his mouth twisted into
a grotesque parody of
a smile as he sobbed.
He'd never cried like this. Never in his life, and that made him cry even harder.
How could such a frail-looking woman reduce him to this state?
Perhaps because he loved her.
He hated himself for that. He would give anything to hate her right now.
But he knew that could never happen. He could never hate Lucrecia, his wife,
the mother of his child.
"God, why can't I hate her...? I mean... that would make it s-so much EASIER,
damn it all!"
He wanted so badly to hate her, but couldn't.
Hate... he had experience with that. In his life he'd hated many people, and of course
been returned the favour.
Yes, Hate was no stranger to him. He was comfortable with hate. It was so much easier
to hate
someone, to write them off as scum, and then be done with it. Hate didn't twist
a knife in his heart.
Hate didn't make him collapse at his desk and cry like a little girl. Hate was
just so easy.
Hate was just SO much more conveinant.
But where there is love, there can be no hate. He understood that now, and hated
himself all the more.
He still loved her. Nothing could ever change that. He would love her
until he died, and that sickened him.
No. Nothing could ever make him hate her.
He found himself staring at that fucking ring again. Yeah, he could remember
that day, the day they'd took those vows, til death do us part, and all that good stuff.
Hell, he'd even MEANT it all! When he looked into her eyes that day and said those
two simple words he'd meant them with every ounce of himself.
Had she meant it as well? He wanted to think so. God, he hoped so. He'd loved her
more than anything,
and he believed she felt the same.
Was it all a lie? It killed him to think that. How could someone speak of
eternal love and devotion and
not mean it? How could someone say those words and not be entirely sure of
them? Worse yet, how could someone
know them to be false and yet say them anyway?
He sniffled, trying to keep a new flood of tears from rising. How the fuck
could she do this?
The ring. Fucking ring. It was still there taunting him, it's very existence
twisting the blade deeper. He wanted to take it off and throw it away. But
he couldn't do that either. He HAD meant everything he'd said, and nothing
could ever make him mad enough or hurt enough to forget those vows.
It would have to stay.
But would she? He somehow doubted that. She obviously felt no reservation about cheating,
what made him think she wasn't open to divorce as well?
God he couldn't handle that. He couldn't picture being without her, let alone
picture her being with that fucking Turk.
Ugh. The thought along was enough to make him start crying again, but somehow it wasn't.
He could hate that Turk. Very easily. In fact he already did. He hadn't liked him
from the moment he met him, so it would be nothing at all to hate him. That made
him feel a bit better, having something to focus this...
What was is anyway? What the hell could you call this crushing feeling inside of him?
Hurt? That didn't seem nearly strong enough for it. Scraped knees hurt.
Bumped heads hurt. Hell, even feelings could get hurt, but this was something
totally alien to him. Something that went far beyond something as simple as hurt.
There was anger there too of course, but again never like anything he'd ever felt.
Anger, grief, anxiety, a whole cornocopia of emotions. There were so many things
there it would be impossible to classify it. All he knew for certain was that
he was miserable.
Misery. That was it. He had unknowingly hit the nail on the head.
But misery wouldn't solve anything. If something was to be done, he would have
to get up and do it. It was plain and simple to him now. The Turk had to go.
End of story.