"Close your eyes, I'm coming!"
His usual sensitive self, for sure, the considerate son of a bitch.
And he did, come that is, although the announced so powerful blast proved to be a puny trickle, hardly hazardous to anything but his own inflated self esteem. But I was the good girl, am I not always? I played along and pledged my eternal love affair with his bodily fluids, rolled my eyes and screamed out the kind of out-of-control orgasm that he is convinced that any woman blessed with his Neolithic attempt of lovemaking will inevitably reach. He grinned and grunted some unintelligible syllables that I knew would be a question: was I happy; did I loved him; did I worshipped his body; was I horny and ready for more; was I sleepy and wanted to sleep? Either way, to please him, I knew that I needed to nod and smile. And I have more than a handful of reasons to please him. A couple of million reasons. Why the fuck does time move so slowly?
*
Two years earlier.
They think that the deafening organ music prevents their evil tongues to reach my ears. Hardly.
One step down the aisle: "What on earth does she see in him?"
Another step: "He is so old! Over seventy!"
Yet another: "And isn't he the meanest old creature?"
One step after the other towards the altar: "She only marries him for the money!"
Echoing.
And so very true. He is a mean old fart. Add disgusting to that. But also disgustingly rich and hungry for a twenty four year old blonde also known as me.
*
Four months ago.
What good is it that I throw out my mirror with the garbage when his herd is surrounded by mirrors anyway? Walls, ceiling - even floor. The only way I can avoid looking myself in my face, decaying from pain and a generous consumption of Vicodin, is to close my eyes.
I live my life with closed eyes.
*
Two weeks ago.
Hope.
The doctor has taken me to the side, his young eyes - he is not older than I am - nervous, and he keeps his voice muted.
"Cut down on fatty food, no excitement for a while and for God's sake make sure that he sleeps at least six hours per night. And stay alert: Any numbness in the left arm needs immediate attention let alone chest pains."
A new hope, indeed.
This afternoon, I will start working out. Time to shape up - soon I'll be on the market.
*
This morning, he outran me. For two years, I have managed to stay faster in the track and why should I not? Age should make a difference. But no, he seems to grow younger every day whereas I seem to whither down a little bit every minute of the day.
My behind is still sore from his claiming his prize; the session was bearable because with each strike of the cane, he reminded me of how many millions would one day be mine. I would gladly have accepted one blow for each million, even though it would surely have killed me, if only he would perish too.
I am young, he says, but I feel like a hundred years old. Why won't he die?
*
I almost died this morning. Every heart condition that I have ever wished would strike him down travelled through my body. Thank God no one decided to stay for very long.
Bungee jump. Never again.
I was still lying on the ground, my legs like jelly, when they screamed for me to stay away.
Stay away?
Step by step I regained composure and suddenly I looked up and saw the thick rubber cord swaying loosely in the air. Yes, swaying slowly from side to side without any weight attached to its end that would ensure the regular swings of a pendulum. No, the weight was dead and lying on the ground. Amid the rapidly running feet around me, only then did I realize that I had heard the snap, the thud and the splash a mere couple of seconds ago.
I lay back on the ground. I smiled. They said I was in shock. Like hell I was.
*
Cleared of all charges. Not all that surprising but welcome nonetheless.
