They were lovers, the two. Regardless of status, regardless of what anyone said. It was too true to be immortal. Unreal, and yet some of it held the slightest grasp of mortality. They knew that not only plants and animals and humans and gods lived. Relationships lived as well. Relationships fed off the words that they would speak. Relationships breathed the emotions they felt. Relationships were sheltered by each person’s comforting thoughts and acts. Relationships were needlessly alive, and they knew enough to hate that it lived. Life needed care, and so, without the fundamentals, emotions, actions, and words, such relationships would die. It was a bother, a nuisance, a hindrance to the love, but they disregarded it. They decided Emotion should rule; whether or not the relationship died. And so they went on day after day, doing what they felt, doing it in ways that they felt was right.
Until there came a clash about the money; of course it was the money. The money was everything that led to emotion. The money was what brought them their possessions and these provoked the emotion from their hearts. And the emotion that sprung to life from the clash was as devilish as Satan himself. Their blood boiled, and soon enough, he had struck her. She had retaliated, as well. She’d brought a knife to the fistfight, such overwhelming violence could not be held in silence and so their screams echoed. And soon he was on his knees, knife in his leg, bloody from cuts. She was bruised, spotted with dark marks that reminded the devil of his prowess over the simpletons of humanity. No. They realized. They knew they had to stop. They knew that the love was enough to overcome it.
And so they did, after months. Time heals all wounds. They were introduced by a friend of a friend. They smiled and claimed “Yes, I believe we’ve met before”. They shared a taxi in the rain; the three of them. After the friend had left on account of the relative closeness of the cab to her place, the two were left inside. She smiled shyly, recalling the finer things in what was once the baby of a relationship. He recalled the death, and his face was as cold as a tombstone. However, that smile crumbled even the toughest of stones. His heart melted, as if steel to a furnace. His eyes softened and he began to smile. She broke the ice and spoke first “Hey…” He replied a whispered “Hi.” It was inevitable that they were led back to each other. They conversed. Such conversations lasted more than a taxi ride down memory lane. They stopped over at a cafe, and chatted as they glanced out from their chairs into the rain that splattered on the glass walls. Those glass walls. They turned their hearts into crystals, remembering the tears, the sorrow; the rain of their relationship.
He invited her over to his place for dinner and a drink. It was relatively difficult, but the memories flooded her mind as the smell of his body filled her nose. The smell emerged as soon as he opened the door. His apartment was rather trashed. She always fixed it up, as she recalled. She recalled those times, while she, in the midst of cleaning his apartment, was pulled onto the couch. She recalled the passion, as they made love on the couch. His playful smile was as uncanny as it was unbearably attractive. The slightly untrimmed facial hair that grew on his chin that looked peculiarly like ants from afar. His chin that sported the rugged look of someone who’d just gone through a muddied field captivated her. His eyes, they were not sparkly, no that was rubbish to her. They were those stone eyes, tough on the world. Yet, she knew that behind them held a damaged soul, and she was there to comfort it. She enjoyed his touch, protective yet sensitive enough to let her know that she was there. And soon the actions were back. After dinner, she pulled him into the room, which was surprisingly kept clean. Her picture was still framed on the mantle. Action bore its fruit, and the relationship was revived.
Days turned into weeks, and they had not yet left his apartment. Oh, the joys of delivered goods. She awoke to the smell of breakfast; the start of their third week. Lovely. He was frying and turning over to her side, she reached for his phone. It was tattered with missed calls. 23 of them, missed. The caller name was: Dr. Samantha. She knew it was not his regular doctor. His regular doctor’s name was, of course, irrelevant to the issue, so she couldn’t find it in her mind. In a rather panicked and frantic search, she stepped around his room. She pulled out his drawer and she noticed a pamphlet for a cardiologist named Dr. Samantha. The Dr. was beautiful. Red hair, chisel square black glasses, a lab coat that made her look like a prostitute ready to open and reveal her naked body. Her face could have been that of a porn star. It tortured her, and she slammed the drawer shut.
He turned and ran into the room to check. His heart was racing. She screamed at him. She threw the phone. IT became a blur. He tried to explain, but the dying relationship could not sustain any more of the screams and torture. The relationship died. This time it was for good. His explanation was flimsy. He’d claimed that he’d had several occurring chest pains. Apparent heart problems, so his doctor referred him to Samantha. Bullshit. She knew better. Why would a doctor like that call 23 times in the middle of the night? He was in tip-top shape. They had sex, every day for the past 3 weeks. How the fuck would he not be alright? Just as she began to leave, he ran to the drawer in a final attempt to salvage what he could. She was out the door.
He chased after her, and he reached her, just in time to show her the prescription. To show her the ECG, that resulted badly. She didn’t believe him and crossed the street. He was still half naked in his underwear. He chased after her, but just as he did, the pain in his chest returned; shooting right up his arm, and around the back of his shoulder. He stopped, frozen in a hunched stance, and faintly called her name. She turned in time to see him, and having a sense of human decency she ran towards him to see what was wrong. He was having a heart attack. He wheezed “I wasn’t allowed sex, or anything for the past 3 weeks, but I couldn’t help it. I loved you. I needed to act upon it… Like we agreed.” She was in tears. The onlookers stood there, stunned to see such an image. She turned and frantically reached for her purse which inadvertently fell from her shoulder. She pulled the phone, and dialled 911. The phone rang, but a unanimous scream of the onlookers, followed by the honk of a truck’s horn made her turn. Seeing what she saw. She fainted.
Waking up in the hospital, she looked around. She ran to the front desk, disregarding her demeaning look. She inquired about him. D.O.A. She knelt down in tears. It was a sad 3 months. After handling enough to finally live normally again, she entered his apartment, along with the aid of his sister and brother. As they scoured and cleaned, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. IT was in the drawer next to the pamphlet of Dr. Samantha. It was a ring box. She lifted it, and there was something stuck to it; a note. It read:
“My Dearest Sarah,
How these weeks have been such bliss. How ignorant we are, to the relationship we have. The relationship does not die due to the lack of something. The relationship is a living thing, and like all living things, it learns to evolve. It learns to manage without action, that’s why there are long distance relationships that work. It learns to manage without love, that’s why there are so many friends with benefits. It learns, just like I have learned to love you. Regardless of what you do, what you prefer, what you dislike or like. Whether or not you hate me, love me, or just want to be friends. I have learned to love you. I love you my sweet. Please, be mine, the every next time we meet?”
She dropped the case, never bothering to open it.
* Please bear with me because I wrote this line per line on the internet so that I could save it which accounts for the rather poor quality of wording.
** Enjoy the story!
(c) Anachronic Works 2011