I'm writing these so quickly that I'm running out of anything to say... I'm getting excited for the finish! Even though it's still pretty far away in terms of where we are in the story, the story is developing and that's always awesome.
“So this is why you never let me in to your apartment,” Greta said, tip toeing around the peculiar instruments.
can explain…” Jack followed Greta and carefully watched the items she
picked up. In some cases he would cradle the instrument from her palm
and place it back on the table, in others he would clean it immediately
after she touched it. She was the bull in Jack’s china shop.
She set down a particularly mossy looking item and said, “It’s so messy.”
He relocated the mossy instrument. “Yes…” Jack agreed, sounding slightly relieved.
you have an obvious serial killer thing going on. If I open the fridge
am I going to find heads?” Greta examined a beaker. “What’s in this?
“No,” Jack yanked the beaker from Greta, “don’t
touch that.” Greta shrugged and sat down. Amidst the abnormal and Mary
Shelly apartment there was a couch. It was old and very comfortable.
Greta sank and worried she may drown in a sea of black leather. It would
be a happy death.
There was a stack of news papers in
her wake, piled high and haphazardly on the coffee table. They all
shared similar headlines. “Psychosomia Reaches Beyond Africa.”
“Psychosomia in Your Neighborhood.” “The New Plague?” Those were the
ones Greta could read. As she lifted one paper after another, more
headlines appeared in foreign languages. She assumed the ones from
different countries were about the same thing: Pyschosomia.
Greta set down the newspapers. “So, how are you going to explain this away?”
not. You’re going to leave and never talk about this again,” Jack said,
arms folded. He wasn’t a very tall man but he always held his posture
strong and domineering. In most cases when Greta saw Jack next to a
another man Jack always stood out. There was something about most men,
most people really, that made them cower. Jack didn’t cower. He didn’t
blend in with the scenery, but instead made the scenery his background.
In the moment he was not cowering and he was not blending. The darkness
made shadows for him. He looked scary, like some Japanese apparition.
“You’re not even going to try to come up with a story?” Jack pushed Greta out the door.
he was serious. He wasn’t going to come up with a story. Was he really
expecting that she just forget all of this? Or maybe he wasn’t worried
at all. Perhaps the minute Greta left Jack’s apartment two men in black
suits were going to erase her memory.
“Hey, I came
over here for a reason,” Greta said, fighting back. Jack was too strong,
however, and as Greta spoke she was almost entirely out of the
apartment. “I get it, you’re in to weird shit. That’s no reason—Stop
pushing me!” Greta smacked Jack and Jack stopped. “I have something to
say.” Jack waited, his face impatient. “It seems a little superfluous in
the wake of what we really should be talking about… almost ludicrously
plot driven that I would talk about this instead of the heads in your
refrigerator, but here I am, selfish and superfluous….”
“Alright,” Jack pushed Greta out the door once more.
slapped Jack. “I love you! I think about you all the time. When we’re
together and when we’re apart. It’s really annoying. I have other things
I would like to be doing but instead I’m thinking about you… In the
three years we’ve known each other neither of us has had a significant
other, unless you count one night stands. And, I mean, why would you?
It’s for the same reasons, I know it is, because you love me.
sick of tip toeing around the subject. We have this connection that
for some reason neither of us acknowledges. I’m sick of being that
cliche girl that doesn’t tell the boy how she feels. Why? What am I
afraid of? I watch you, I fantasize about you. Every night when I go to
bed I think about you. I’m sick of pretending that I don’t want a
happily ever after. You help me care for my cat. You eat with me every
night. You’re there for me on my dark days. You know my deepest secrets.
You know more about me than my family. You’re my best friend and you’re
not afraid of what I am. On top of all that I really, really, really
want to see you naked.”
But Greta didn’t say any of that.