, , , , , , , , , , , ,

He’s gone again.

How many times must I endure this cruelty? How many times will he just disappear, telling me naught of where he’s going, returning sporadically without explanation, seemingly on a whim, regardless of my feelings? I think he must hate me! But then he returns, with his smiles and gifts, telling me how beautiful I am, and how he loves me, and I forgive. I always forgive.

Perhaps he’s getting bored of me. He’s always praising my singing; the perfect audience, right up to the point he suddenly isn’t, and starts screaming at me to shut the hell up.

What could I possibly have done differently to save our love? I mean yes, there was the incident with the newspaper, but I was just in a foul mood and had no idea he hadn’t read it yet. I was terrified; he turned on me, changed completely, and the day I ruined his best suit . . . I tremble to think of the events that afternoon . . .

Sometimes I think he must be ashamed of me too, as he never takes me out anywhere nice — never out at all actually. I often feel like a prisoner in my own home! And when his loathsome friends are ‘round drinking, they won’t leave me alone, grinning like idiots and winking at me all the time, hoping I might reciprocate their filthy thoughts. Not that I really mind the attention, these days . . .

Oh, how desperate I sound! I’ll never forgive him again, I’ve had enough! A girl can’t live like this . . . That’s what he calls me: his best girl. Still, how I do love him, those big blue eyes, his broad smile . . .

No! No. I must be strong! Look in the mirror and be honest with myself! I’ll go mad. It’s no life this — swinging emotionally back and forth on a mad trapeze, receiving paltry crumbs when I’ve given him my very life. Never knowing when he’ll turn, suddenly finding those nicotine stained fingers all over me, probing away.


What’s that? The front door. He’s back! I’m not giving in this time; I’ll turn my back and stay there; I swear I won’t look — if I ignore him for long enough he might truly understand how much he hurts me.

I steady my nerves and turn around, facing the living room wall, and hear him enter the room. Oh God, he’s blowing me kisses, I can hear him; I must hold out, I . . . I must! I won’t let the filthy pig ring my bell tonight! But I’m too weak, I can’t stand it, can’t bear to be cruel to him dammit; I may be mad, but I love him — love him I tell you!

I turn around and see his big handsome face, and I just can’t help jumping up and down on the spot with joy. I’m a fool I know, but a happy one!

He slowly pulls out his gift.

Oh my God! It’s amazing!

“Hello beautiful. Guess what I have for you my sweet girl? Oh, don’t look like that, come on now . . . who’s a pretty girl then? Polly want a cracker?”

Oh god yes! Yes, I do want a fucking cracker!

I take the cracker, neck it, then head bang the mirror on the bars, knowing the sound it makes when the bell rings always has him looking like the happiest man in the world!

Of course I forgive him!