Sharona is sitting on the couch in Adrian's living room, listening to
him argue with the instructions on a coffee container and really she should
put him out of his misery and offer to do it her self but she's just too
exhausted. Everything inside of her is tired, as if lethargy has suddenly
invested itself inside her joints and she vows she'll never pour out her
feelings again, it takes everything out of you.
And there's something else that's bothering her and its right there, burning into her skull, filling it with disastrous thoughts she shouldn't be thinking. Her brain has done a lot of that today. But this is even worse, this is pure jealousy sticking out its ugly green head and cackling wildly so that it seems to echo across the room. It's that damn table, placed strategically for a reason, a reason Adrian once whispered to her in confidence that she would truly understand and never ask questions.
But of course she's gone against her promise and her hands are itching to adjust it, to bring it back to its proper place, at a right angle like everything else in his apartment. It's wrong, it's so wrong, and yet she feels like everything would just be better if she did it. As if Trudy's ghost would vanish from the situation just by the movement of a silly piece of furniture. As if everything would just be normal. Right angle. Just a simple movement. Perhaps he wouldn't even notice.
Yeah right.
And that's when it hits her. Hard. Right in the chest. It's never going to work out, never. Because she bets that even if he said I love you, even if their dates were amazing, even if he asked for her to move in with him, that table would always be there. In that place. Her place. If Sharona were to move it, whether today or 2 years into their relationship, he would nod maybe and say something about "how nice it looks in that particular place" but she's sure that if she were to leave the room, even for just a couple of minutes, somehow it would drift back into the same spot, as if Trudy's hands had guided it there themselves.
You've got to understand, this was Adrian's soul mate; you can never replace a soul mate. If you aim for that you'll die trying. He'll love you, sure, but not in the way he loved her, he'll never love you that way. It's just not possible. The heart only has enough room for one soul mate.
Sharona, her brain says, you came too late.
And Sharona hates her self for that. Hates the fact that fate shoved her into a sickly marriage and all the while Adrian was being loved by somebody else. But then she realizes she never would have had Benjy and she quickly dismisses the thought from her mind.
She realizes she is crying about five seconds before Adrian, half an hour later, finally enters with the coffee. She quickly wipes the edges of her eyes with her sleeve and puts on the best imitation of a smile she has.
"Sharona," He says after taking three minutes of twitching, and long breaths, and wringing his hands. She won't let him do this. She can't let him do this. She's had enough bad relationships to understand that her heart can't break anymore. Each time it does it takes longer to glue itself back together; it whines and burns, one of these days it will shatter and all the pieces will be too minuscule to gather and she will be left with nothing. An empty cavern inside her ribs.
"Look, um, you should forget everything I said." She says quickly. Adrian pauses, opens him mouth and then shuts it again. His eyes are digging into hers, prodding her thoughts and fear creeps into her system that he can see the disgusting person she has become. That he will draw back with the frown of one who has just witnessed the darkest side of a person he has trusted for years. Jesus, she's jealous of a dead woman! How low can you get?
"Sharona," He starts again. Tears begin to blossom out of the corners of her eyes, making the room blurry. The table, the damn table is the only thing she can see clearly.
"I, uh, I got to run some errands. I'll call you." She grabs her purse and stumbles towards the door and fumbles with the handle and makes an awful display of a woman who is totally deteriorating at her seams and then there's a hand on her shoulder.
And a million sparks fly through her veins and send shivers down her spine.
Adrian, Adrian who can't touch anybody, is touching her. And he's got this look in his eyes, a look she can't decipher, but it must be good. It must be. Something inside of her is galloping around as if there is a racehorse in her stomach.
"Sharona." He says in that deep voice he gets when confidence springs into him, a voice Sharona would never admit was the sexiest thing she had ever heard. Her name has never sounded so perfect. She would die happy if he repeated her name three times in that voice. If she could record that word and just play it night and day and perhaps dream that he felt the same way.
She's not expecting the gentle kiss that graces her lips.
Then again, fate never gives you what you were expecting.
And there's something else that's bothering her and its right there, burning into her skull, filling it with disastrous thoughts she shouldn't be thinking. Her brain has done a lot of that today. But this is even worse, this is pure jealousy sticking out its ugly green head and cackling wildly so that it seems to echo across the room. It's that damn table, placed strategically for a reason, a reason Adrian once whispered to her in confidence that she would truly understand and never ask questions.
But of course she's gone against her promise and her hands are itching to adjust it, to bring it back to its proper place, at a right angle like everything else in his apartment. It's wrong, it's so wrong, and yet she feels like everything would just be better if she did it. As if Trudy's ghost would vanish from the situation just by the movement of a silly piece of furniture. As if everything would just be normal. Right angle. Just a simple movement. Perhaps he wouldn't even notice.
Yeah right.
And that's when it hits her. Hard. Right in the chest. It's never going to work out, never. Because she bets that even if he said I love you, even if their dates were amazing, even if he asked for her to move in with him, that table would always be there. In that place. Her place. If Sharona were to move it, whether today or 2 years into their relationship, he would nod maybe and say something about "how nice it looks in that particular place" but she's sure that if she were to leave the room, even for just a couple of minutes, somehow it would drift back into the same spot, as if Trudy's hands had guided it there themselves.
You've got to understand, this was Adrian's soul mate; you can never replace a soul mate. If you aim for that you'll die trying. He'll love you, sure, but not in the way he loved her, he'll never love you that way. It's just not possible. The heart only has enough room for one soul mate.
Sharona, her brain says, you came too late.
And Sharona hates her self for that. Hates the fact that fate shoved her into a sickly marriage and all the while Adrian was being loved by somebody else. But then she realizes she never would have had Benjy and she quickly dismisses the thought from her mind.
She realizes she is crying about five seconds before Adrian, half an hour later, finally enters with the coffee. She quickly wipes the edges of her eyes with her sleeve and puts on the best imitation of a smile she has.
"Sharona," He says after taking three minutes of twitching, and long breaths, and wringing his hands. She won't let him do this. She can't let him do this. She's had enough bad relationships to understand that her heart can't break anymore. Each time it does it takes longer to glue itself back together; it whines and burns, one of these days it will shatter and all the pieces will be too minuscule to gather and she will be left with nothing. An empty cavern inside her ribs.
"Look, um, you should forget everything I said." She says quickly. Adrian pauses, opens him mouth and then shuts it again. His eyes are digging into hers, prodding her thoughts and fear creeps into her system that he can see the disgusting person she has become. That he will draw back with the frown of one who has just witnessed the darkest side of a person he has trusted for years. Jesus, she's jealous of a dead woman! How low can you get?
"Sharona," He starts again. Tears begin to blossom out of the corners of her eyes, making the room blurry. The table, the damn table is the only thing she can see clearly.
"I, uh, I got to run some errands. I'll call you." She grabs her purse and stumbles towards the door and fumbles with the handle and makes an awful display of a woman who is totally deteriorating at her seams and then there's a hand on her shoulder.
And a million sparks fly through her veins and send shivers down her spine.
Adrian, Adrian who can't touch anybody, is touching her. And he's got this look in his eyes, a look she can't decipher, but it must be good. It must be. Something inside of her is galloping around as if there is a racehorse in her stomach.
"Sharona." He says in that deep voice he gets when confidence springs into him, a voice Sharona would never admit was the sexiest thing she had ever heard. Her name has never sounded so perfect. She would die happy if he repeated her name three times in that voice. If she could record that word and just play it night and day and perhaps dream that he felt the same way.
She's not expecting the gentle kiss that graces her lips.
Then again, fate never gives you what you were expecting.