Author's note: This story is my version of how Mark and Maureen broke up. I
borrowed a lot from the opera La Boheme so if Mark seems out of character,
you know why. I wanted to make Mark more like the character Marcello.
Last Month I Was Dumped
It must have been at least 3 in the morning when Mark slammed the door behind him as he entered the loft, just seconds after Maureen. Maureen turned around to glare at Mark. "Shh! Do you want to wake Roger?" She cast a quick glance to Roger's closed bedroom door as if expecting it to open. Nothing happened so she turned back to mark, blonde curls bobbing around her face.
"I don't care!" Mark shouted. "Just what did you think you were doing?"
"What do you mean?" Maureen replied, eyes wide, an arch to one of her delicate eyebrows.
Mark tossed his camera onto the table and gaped for a moment. Couldn't she see this was serious? Why did she have to play innocent? "I mean, what were you doing with that woman you were all over at the club! When I walked up, you looked at me like I was the ghost of Christmas future!"
Maureen sighed, "Is that what this is about?" She gave him a reassuring smile. "She just asked me if I like to dance."
"uh huh," Mark said flatly, he crossed his arms over his chest "And what did you tell her?"
"I told her 'I could dance all night and day'!" To demonstrate, she started dancing around Mark. He was only getting angrier at her refusal to take this seriously.
Mark rolled his eyes. "That kind of talk can raise someone's hopes."
Maureen stopped dancing "So what if it does? I won't be tied down, Mark. Especially to a wall flower who takes me to a club and spends more time with his camera then me."
"Tied down?!" Mark was shouting again. "You *asked* me to film you dancing. I didn't want to go and watch you flirt with practically everyone there!"
"Why are you so upset? It's not like we're married or anything." Maureen made her way to the bedroom she shared with Mark.
Mark follwed her. "It's not exactly like you're single either!"
Maureen held Mark's face in her hands. "Marky, don't be so upset. It's only a bit of fun."
Mark glared at her, refusing to let her win yet another argument with her looks. "Well, I don't like you having fun at my expense"
Maureen groaned, loudly and dramatically "God, Mark! Get over it! I'll flirt with whoever I like! How do you like that?"
"You don't mean that... You can't." Mark's anger was temporarily lost at the thought that she might actually be breaking up with him.
Maureen smiled cruelly. "Oh, don't I? I don't have to put up with shit from any man. Not that you're much of one. I can't stand a lover who imagines that he's," She laughed loudly "your husband!"
Mark's anger returned with a vengence "You're dumping me?!"
"You got it, sweatheart!"
"Fine! I'm grateful and good riddance!"
"Great! I'm clearing out my shit tomorrow. I'm just sorry I wasted my time on such a loser." She stormed off towards the bedroom.
"And I'm sorry I wasted my time on such a poseur!"
Maureen's eyes narrows as she turned in the doorway. "Prick!" She slammed the door.
"BITCH!" Mark yelled at the closed door.
Mark leaned against the it. He could feel his eyes tearing up. God, how unfair! How could he still love someone who treated him like shit. He took off his glasses and wiped furiously at his eyes, willing the tears to stay back. It was no use. They overflowed and as Mark swallowed a sob, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
*****
"Yes, I am out of my depth. I am learning that there are cities, like certain women, who annoy you, overwhelm you, and lay bare your soul, and whose scorching contact, scandalous and delightful at the same time, clings to every pore of your body. This is how, for days on end, I walked around New York, my eyes filled with tears simply because the city air is filed with cinders, and half one's time outdoors is spent rubbing the eyes or removing the minute speck of metal that the thousand New Jersey factories send into them as a joyful greeting gift, from across the Hudson. In the end, this is how New York effects me, like a foreign body in the eye, delicious and unbearable, evoking tears of emotion and all-consuming fury." - Albert Camus "The Rains of New York", Critical and Lyrical essays
Last Month I Was Dumped
It must have been at least 3 in the morning when Mark slammed the door behind him as he entered the loft, just seconds after Maureen. Maureen turned around to glare at Mark. "Shh! Do you want to wake Roger?" She cast a quick glance to Roger's closed bedroom door as if expecting it to open. Nothing happened so she turned back to mark, blonde curls bobbing around her face.
"I don't care!" Mark shouted. "Just what did you think you were doing?"
"What do you mean?" Maureen replied, eyes wide, an arch to one of her delicate eyebrows.
Mark tossed his camera onto the table and gaped for a moment. Couldn't she see this was serious? Why did she have to play innocent? "I mean, what were you doing with that woman you were all over at the club! When I walked up, you looked at me like I was the ghost of Christmas future!"
Maureen sighed, "Is that what this is about?" She gave him a reassuring smile. "She just asked me if I like to dance."
"uh huh," Mark said flatly, he crossed his arms over his chest "And what did you tell her?"
"I told her 'I could dance all night and day'!" To demonstrate, she started dancing around Mark. He was only getting angrier at her refusal to take this seriously.
Mark rolled his eyes. "That kind of talk can raise someone's hopes."
Maureen stopped dancing "So what if it does? I won't be tied down, Mark. Especially to a wall flower who takes me to a club and spends more time with his camera then me."
"Tied down?!" Mark was shouting again. "You *asked* me to film you dancing. I didn't want to go and watch you flirt with practically everyone there!"
"Why are you so upset? It's not like we're married or anything." Maureen made her way to the bedroom she shared with Mark.
Mark follwed her. "It's not exactly like you're single either!"
Maureen held Mark's face in her hands. "Marky, don't be so upset. It's only a bit of fun."
Mark glared at her, refusing to let her win yet another argument with her looks. "Well, I don't like you having fun at my expense"
Maureen groaned, loudly and dramatically "God, Mark! Get over it! I'll flirt with whoever I like! How do you like that?"
"You don't mean that... You can't." Mark's anger was temporarily lost at the thought that she might actually be breaking up with him.
Maureen smiled cruelly. "Oh, don't I? I don't have to put up with shit from any man. Not that you're much of one. I can't stand a lover who imagines that he's," She laughed loudly "your husband!"
Mark's anger returned with a vengence "You're dumping me?!"
"You got it, sweatheart!"
"Fine! I'm grateful and good riddance!"
"Great! I'm clearing out my shit tomorrow. I'm just sorry I wasted my time on such a loser." She stormed off towards the bedroom.
"And I'm sorry I wasted my time on such a poseur!"
Maureen's eyes narrows as she turned in the doorway. "Prick!" She slammed the door.
"BITCH!" Mark yelled at the closed door.
Mark leaned against the it. He could feel his eyes tearing up. God, how unfair! How could he still love someone who treated him like shit. He took off his glasses and wiped furiously at his eyes, willing the tears to stay back. It was no use. They overflowed and as Mark swallowed a sob, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
*****
"Yes, I am out of my depth. I am learning that there are cities, like certain women, who annoy you, overwhelm you, and lay bare your soul, and whose scorching contact, scandalous and delightful at the same time, clings to every pore of your body. This is how, for days on end, I walked around New York, my eyes filled with tears simply because the city air is filed with cinders, and half one's time outdoors is spent rubbing the eyes or removing the minute speck of metal that the thousand New Jersey factories send into them as a joyful greeting gift, from across the Hudson. In the end, this is how New York effects me, like a foreign body in the eye, delicious and unbearable, evoking tears of emotion and all-consuming fury." - Albert Camus "The Rains of New York", Critical and Lyrical essays