This is a fictional story that I weaved around watching two friends pick away at each other, because he's a polyamorist and she believes that he should be her one true everything. What would happen if during one of their many splits one of their shared friends became involved with him?
I've started it after the foreplay, the climax and the heartbreak. My only excuse it that the characters grew so personal that it feels like, when I write about their thoughts and activates that I'm spying on them, and then gossiping to their worst enemy. Anyways, please take a look at this draft and let me know if I should own up, and start from the beginning or move forward from this point.
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I walked around the gun shop. It was a small, unappealing place, once again reinforcing my decision that leaving was a bad idea. The city was lifeless and where I had once had friends, a decent job and pastimes that I would die for, now I spent most of my time on the couch staring out over painted and under caulked windows to the grimy street below. If I wasn't temping for some one who was to cheep to hire a capable employee.
I forced my legs to walk down towards the back of the store. Not all gun and knife stores are like the last few I had visited. Gary ran his like it was his baby, I sighed. My eyes roamed over the cases of hardware. Nothing impressed me. Not that I was an expert, especially when it came to guns so in the end, my focus lingered on the few blades and the sleazy guy.
Most of the knives to me were for show, big Rambo type weapons which were really just large trinkets that people though looked cool. I had to remind myself that I was in a different area so may there was a legitimate use for the five large machetes on the wall, but I had yet to encounter a reason yet in the Cincinnati area. I didn't see any Kerambit knife's my personal favorite it was simple, small and thorough.
There's something about creepy guys in movies that just don't usually cut it. Maybe because their trying to be creepy verse real life, creepy guys who are trying to be, um I don't know cool. Or maybe it's because they have a creepy aura that tangibly clings to them like the feeling you get when you have to put a pair of cold dirty socks back on your feet. Consciously I know, better than some that sociopaths are the clean and charming people, but at least you're comfortable until they turn on you.
"Can I help you find anything?" Bubba ask for the third time. It wasn't a necessarily rude question so I grit my teeth and smile. It's always a game, or maybe I can't stop thinking that way. If I'm too nice he'll think he has an opening, if I rude he'll get offended. This is why I think women just need to go out and buy a dammed wedding band. It keeps away all sorts of creeps for all sorts of reasons but it didn't always work.
"Um, no not really, it's my husband's birthday and I know he's into this kind of stuff." I fluttered my hand to take in all gear. "Do you have any of those French knifes I think they're called Laguiole Rou- something? He likes the old ones." I said, looking as pleadingly as I could.
A slimy voice spoke from an open door that was probably serving as an office, and must have been the actual manager since he decided to speak up. "No, try over by Hyde Park in an Antique Store or online." His voice full of disgusted at the idea of spending money on something you couldn't shoot bullets from on a daily basis.
"Oh, ok, but I'd rather see it first," I sighed, "Hyde Park area, ok thanks." I lifted my chin up and aimed myself towards the exit.
I hated this, as I walked down the grimy area of Vine Street towards my car thankful that I hadn't washed the grime off anymore, and it was still there with all the windows in tact.
Angry thoughts filtered around my head. The scorned woman, because I was the only one involved, right? I seduced them, ha! I was the only one that made the wrong or right choices.
I jerked my car door open and gunned it. I pushed my little car hard until I was parked at Mount Airy Forest. I needed some fresh air for my head, guilty swam up behind me like a bull shark and before I knew it I had sat down on top of a picnic table and pulled out my little cell. Dialing was hard, saying anything would be harder.
"Hi." Sherry said her tone cool with a hint of concern.
"Hey, I just got settled in awhile ago." The tension in my voice reeked of the panic I felt.
"So you're ok?" She asked.
"I've been better." I confessed falling for generic saying since nothing else really fit.
"No doubt." She said the word held a world of contempt.
I sighed. "Neither of us were completely ignorant about getting involved with him would mean."
She snorted.
"Maybe I should have known by the way you claimed your distain," I drew out the word for emphasis, "for him that it was bullshit."
She sighed and it was a moment before she said anything.
"He always slept around on me."
I interjected some common sense. "He'll always slept, sleeps around on anyone."
"He's an asshole." She replied.
"No, he just tries to be everything for everybody."
"That makes it sound like you think its ok."
"No, it might just mean that maybe I understand...stood." I gave a little frustrated growl. "I didn't ask him for the world, I didn't ask him for anything outside his comfort zone. I didn't want anything out side his comfort zone." I told myself most of that was true. Michael ruled his little world with a cement fist. By that I guess what I meant was, he was loyal to everyone and everything the point of turning it into disloyalty by spreading himself to thin. But it came from the heart even when he was possessive and controlling. Some part of him truly believed that he was doing the right thing.
Carine knew what I said and what I meant to say, her agenda had been to fix him. Mine had been to learn as much from him as I could before it all got out of control. That made her mad at me for a lot of different reasons.
"He'll never change?" She asked, and wanted me to lie.
"Love him the way he is or leave him." I offered as a way to finish that line of discussion.
"I love him, but what he's doing isn't health." She complained.
I had never been one to be good a being a girly girl. That's what got me in so much trouble to begin with and made me get out, before the going, got even worse.
"Carine, if this was a different time or place." I paused. "Well, we'd probably both be dead by now." On the surface she was a practicing Witch but I knew that she practiced and did a more. It takes a strong person to believe what she does makes a difference and it's what made her my friend despite our difference. "We be wife 12 or whore 114, if we were lucky, it's what he is and what he does. Only when you want to change him does he lie and he only does that to try and please you, rather than changing what he's actually doing. If you're dumb enough to ask is this an earthquake, in the middle of a 7.0 it obviously means to him lie to her, because either you'll believe him, and go along for the ride or you won't, and get out of the situation." I sighed, every conversation with Carine devolved into this depressing circle. I told myself that's why I called her, to see what I didn't what to be like, not that I ever was, but I had my own personal glue that I was stuck in and I was trying like hell to move on. So maybe calling her wasn't the best thing I could have done. I sighed yet again. I hated chick stuff.
Either I was quite for two long or she heard me sigh, because the next thing she said was terribly honest. "I'll probably go back to him."
"Yep." For the first time my attention focused on the area around the table and I silently chastised myself for being so unaware. It was the peak of autumn and I watched the leaves fall to the ground and listened to the wildlife making noise among the drying leaves. "It's really epic." I offered.
"I miss you."
"No you don't" I told her, yea I know it sounded harsh. I could swear she was thinking about crying. I groaned.
"I didn't leave just because of you," That was the honest truth. "There were a lot of other people involved and by the end I just wasn't thinking straight. It was pathological."
"You mean dysfunctional." She suggested her tone light and teasing.
"No I mean pathological. I did what I did without a lot of remorse, embarrassment or concern for anyone on the outside. It all had a sense of order, each and every choice I made was what I wanted to happen and the only way to stop repeating it was to get around people that don't expect me to do what I did." I didn't want to admit that out loud to anyone, but she need to hear it, again, for her sake as well as mine.
"You mean to act normally?"
I snorted, "Yea."
"Do you think you can do that?" She asked.
"No. Maybe I should go to one of those support groups for addicts." I joked.
She didn't say anything.
