Four

Soon I discover all kinds of sweet things about her. I learned that she was deceptively strong, that she wanted to be on top, that I had no problem with that, that she was the kind of moan that made you loose your thoughts, that I lost mine, that she liked to crash and bash, that her hair reeked of suntan lotion, that I got wet with the thought; her at the beach, her in a thong, her with no shoes on, her in the rain, then thoughts rang true. No clothes in bed. White sheets, soft skin, I was feeling a little guilty. I was feeling that I should be somewhere else, that I shouldn’t do this to her, then I closed my eyes.

We talked after. She talked really. I leaned on her shoulder and pretended to be someone else.

“I’ve been doing this a lot you know?”

She said this with embarrassment and unease. I met her eyes. But I say nothing. What looked back was a mix of guilt and bitterness. I wasn’t what she wanted. It stung a bit. I wanted her to want me; I wanted her for that one moment to be someone she was not. The truest moment of my odd existence. And she beat me to it.

So I look at her. And I see her pain and note that she wants to die, the guilt of being with me was enough to get her to jump off a tall building like this one. She had enough, no more one night’s, no more good days. I notice that whatever she had with that woman, her lover I should say. I notice that whatever it was she loved her very much. It suddenly hit me at that moment that I killed her lover for no other reason than she noticed me.

How fucking stupid. How fucking shameful. She had something I wanted. She was in my way. And most of all she was a way in.

 The experiment was a complete success.

 They made me perfect. In my perfection I was finding myself more and more apart from everything. There was nothing new about that and I didn’t dwell. That’s not what it’s about and it’s not all that I am. It might be all that I will be, but it’s not what I am.