Chapter Seven: Waves
I've tried to phone her seven times this morning, and her cell's still off. I don't know where she lives so I can't go and see her, and she won't be working. Bastard Shooter! I run around the house, taking my anger out on material things, and maybe the cat. Why the fuck?
:::I like her, Mr. Rainey. She's purty.:::
(Piss off, Shooter. You've done enough fucking damage!)
:::I like her, Mr. Rainey. I like her more than you do, and I'll have her, one way or another.:::
(What the fuck do you mean by that, Shooter?)
:::Exactly what I said.::: I try her cell again. Nope, no answer. I begin to wonder where she'd be on a Saturday morning, but I suddenly had a huge wave of inspiration, and felt I needed to write.
Three hours later I'd put down three chapters of a new story onto my laptop, and looked up at the clock. I phoned her again, and I got her answerphone. So I left a message asking if she's phone me back.
The phone rings.
"Clementine?" I ask.
"Yes, Mort. It's me, just listen to what I have to say."
"Clementine. . ."
"Mort, I don't think I can do this. I assume that you know I saw Shooter again, I guess you can talk to him when he's you, like he talks to you when you're you, if that makes sense. And, although, God this is so hard. Although, I love you, Mort. I love you so much," she begins to cry. And I'm just about to. "There's something about Shooter, Mort. I can't risk being around when he's there, we can't control him, Mort. There's a couple of things I left at your place when I had to go, so I'm coming round to pick them up, but I won't be staying. I'm so sorry, Mort." She hung up. I'm crying buckets now.
The only person to love me, even to like me, after Amy, was Clementine, and now she's gone. (Now you've scared her away.)
:::She'll be back, Mr. Rainey.:::
(Yeah, Shooter, she's coming round for her stuff.)
:::She won't be leaving.:::
(What the fuck do you mean by that? Shooter!?!) I can't argue, I don't have the energy to argue, I just want to fall asleep, and dream all this away, and, I'll wake up, and none of it would have happened. Shooter wouldn't have attacked Clementine, and she'd be here, with me, like she's supposed to be. I sit down on the couch, my head in my hands, my dressing-gown soaked in tears, and I take off my glasses, and lie back. And softly drift off to sleep.
"Mmpph," I moan. Someone is shaking me awake.
"Mort, wake up!"
"What?" It's Clementine, trying to pull something from under me.
"You're sleeping on my jacket," she says, pulling again, I sit up and she takes it. I get up suddenly.
"Clementine," I say, taking hold of her shoulders. She flinches, so I let go, Shooter must have done that the other night. "Clementine. . ."
"Mort," she turns to the door, her arms laden with things. "Mort, don't say anything. Goodbye." I rush over to her and kiss her, putting my hand up her cheek I can feel tears rolling down her face. She backs away. "I can't do this, Mort. Please, understand."
"Clementine," I put my arm out to her and it touches her clothes.
I've tried to phone her seven times this morning, and her cell's still off. I don't know where she lives so I can't go and see her, and she won't be working. Bastard Shooter! I run around the house, taking my anger out on material things, and maybe the cat. Why the fuck?
:::I like her, Mr. Rainey. She's purty.:::
(Piss off, Shooter. You've done enough fucking damage!)
:::I like her, Mr. Rainey. I like her more than you do, and I'll have her, one way or another.:::
(What the fuck do you mean by that, Shooter?)
:::Exactly what I said.::: I try her cell again. Nope, no answer. I begin to wonder where she'd be on a Saturday morning, but I suddenly had a huge wave of inspiration, and felt I needed to write.
Three hours later I'd put down three chapters of a new story onto my laptop, and looked up at the clock. I phoned her again, and I got her answerphone. So I left a message asking if she's phone me back.
The phone rings.
"Clementine?" I ask.
"Yes, Mort. It's me, just listen to what I have to say."
"Clementine. . ."
"Mort, I don't think I can do this. I assume that you know I saw Shooter again, I guess you can talk to him when he's you, like he talks to you when you're you, if that makes sense. And, although, God this is so hard. Although, I love you, Mort. I love you so much," she begins to cry. And I'm just about to. "There's something about Shooter, Mort. I can't risk being around when he's there, we can't control him, Mort. There's a couple of things I left at your place when I had to go, so I'm coming round to pick them up, but I won't be staying. I'm so sorry, Mort." She hung up. I'm crying buckets now.
The only person to love me, even to like me, after Amy, was Clementine, and now she's gone. (Now you've scared her away.)
:::She'll be back, Mr. Rainey.:::
(Yeah, Shooter, she's coming round for her stuff.)
:::She won't be leaving.:::
(What the fuck do you mean by that? Shooter!?!) I can't argue, I don't have the energy to argue, I just want to fall asleep, and dream all this away, and, I'll wake up, and none of it would have happened. Shooter wouldn't have attacked Clementine, and she'd be here, with me, like she's supposed to be. I sit down on the couch, my head in my hands, my dressing-gown soaked in tears, and I take off my glasses, and lie back. And softly drift off to sleep.
"Mmpph," I moan. Someone is shaking me awake.
"Mort, wake up!"
"What?" It's Clementine, trying to pull something from under me.
"You're sleeping on my jacket," she says, pulling again, I sit up and she takes it. I get up suddenly.
"Clementine," I say, taking hold of her shoulders. She flinches, so I let go, Shooter must have done that the other night. "Clementine. . ."
"Mort," she turns to the door, her arms laden with things. "Mort, don't say anything. Goodbye." I rush over to her and kiss her, putting my hand up her cheek I can feel tears rolling down her face. She backs away. "I can't do this, Mort. Please, understand."
"Clementine," I put my arm out to her and it touches her clothes.