Interview with a Nazi part 3.
"Yes, it did mean something." He replied, shifting his weight.
"you are lying to me."
"No, I'm not, I don't lie." He retorted.
"I have learned that men constantly lie, a long time ago." She replied, turning in the bed, the sun was rising, and she was becoming tired, she laid back and sighed, breathing carbon monoxide into the subtle still air.
"I'm not lying sex means a lot to me."
"I just can't believe you." Rip sighed.
"I don't have sex with any random person, unless its something I want to remember."
"Why do you want to remember this?" she asked. Rip turned to face him.
"Sex is special to me, I want to remember you, you are not the average woman, Rip." He said, placing his hands on her waist over her blanket.
"I want to remember you as well." She whispered, closing her eyes and falling asleep. He threw his leg over her hips, and wrapped an arm around her, with that he fell asleep.
Rip awoke that night, just at dusk, when the sun was falling, leading to a beautiful array of colors in the sky. The reporter woke shortly after.
"What do you think of the sunsets?" he asked.
"I think that the sunsets are amazingly beautiful, I look forward to them whenever I wake." Rip replied.
"They are, I think we should try to finish the interview." He said, planting a gentle kiss on her neck. Rip moved naked from the bed and moved to put her clothes back on. She brushed her long hair, and braided it. After she was done she returned to the reporter, who was pulling his pants on.
"Would you like some coffee or something?" he asked, and she politely declined. "Would you prefer the living room, where we were before?"
"Yes, actually that would be quite nice." She replied with candor. As she walked back towards the couch, she didn't know what it was, if it was the length of her dress or the hateful cat, but she tripped. She tripped and fell hitting her head on the coffee table, it spurred a small cut on her forehead. ( I TOLD you that would be in there) her vision blurred for a moment. She held her head and moaned.
"Are you allright, that was quite the fall there?" he asked, taking a look at the small gash on her head.
"I'm fine, I have had much worse than this little cut."
"Really, tell me about it Rip," he ran a hand over her loose bangs.
"When I was a child, I was always quite clumsy. I tended to always have some bump, bruise, or cut. I wasn't a very healthy child either, always sick. I'm sure it's why my body is so small, why my skin is so pale my eyes so hollow. I always loved the sun as a child, but I was always in bed unable to see the sun I craved. I guess it doesn't matter anymore, I can no longer see the sun." she leaned back against the table she fell against moments ago. "Too many times I was in the hospital, hooked to an IV, it was no way to spend my childhood." Her voice began to break. "I wanted to just die so many times because I saw what I was putting my parents through, If I had died, they wouldn't have to deal with me or my medical bills, or anything like that. That would never happen. When I became a teenager I spiraled into a deep and dark depression. I began cutting myself, not my wrists but my ankles. I didn't want anyone to find out, if they did there would be more shit on my parent's plate. I couldn't, I couldn't do anything, and I felt trapped in my own body, a walking corpse. Ironically, that's all I am now." She let out a frustrated sigh and buried her head in her hands. The reporter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. " While I was young I enjoyed to read in my hospital bed, I read anything, from German Opera's to American literature. The story of Rip Van Winkle was my favorite. I read it almost everyday." She heaved a sigh and lay back into the reporter's chest. " I don't know what is drawing me to you, but there is something there, something that I can not name." She muttered turning and wrapping her arms around his neck.