My hand trembles as I reach out to brush my fingertips against her cheek, as if I hope the lightest of touches won’t corrupt this image. My stomach is lurching, too nauseated to vomit. I focus every ounce of my will to keep her beautiful face together…but I fail. Her lips roll back the skin tightens across her perfect cheeks and her eyes, her eyes, in which I have lost myself, where I found myself, flare with disgust and derision. If I could stay focused… but the shaking has started, in my hands, which are now gripping my shaking thighs. Black spots float in my vision, but I know I won’t pass out, that would be too easy.
I turn away and sit at the edge of the bed, and I wish this would end. This is toxic, if not just plain sick. Then I feel her slide across the sheets behind me.
“Shhhh. Baby, what’s the matter? You look a little green around the gills.”
I take a deep breath and plan to let it out slowly, but the exhale comes as a sob. I try to focus on the light square on the bedroom wall that used to be home to the mirror I smashed months ago. Then I feel her finger tip, tracing the outline of my sideburns downwards and then across my cheek to my nose. I recite my power words silently.
“This, isn’t happening!”
“I decide my own fate!”
And a final mantra “your hold on me is a figment of my imagination.”
“Is that right lover?” She breathes into my ear, “What does your imagination say about my version of a dirty sanchez?”
My peripheral vision is seconds ahead of my other senses, and I catch a glimpse of the hand that is reaching towards my mouth. Last week she was the one who was green around the gills, now her hand is grey and soggy, the meatier parts of her hand hanging away from the bone. I barely have time to process the maddening image before the violently rank smell of putrid flesh shoves its way deep into my nose. Internally, I rave, “Why why why did you look?”
Out loud I scream, “You are driving me insane!” I spring from the bed, “Leave me alone!”
She raises an eyebrow and leans back, her legs hanging over the edge of the mattress, her lips, impossibly, pull back further from her teeth, “Right, I am the one driving you insane, lil ole me?”
She arches her back and attempts to run her hand through her hair, but succeeds in uprooting a 3 square inch square from her skull, “Oops-a-daisy,” she says drilling me with her eyes and throwing the wet mass to the floor with a splat. Then slowly she spreads her grey thighs, now the stench is overpowering.
“I know, baby,” she purrs “ You are a Big, Strong, Important man. Now give me what I need. I need you sooo badly baby.”…
That makes me stop in my tracks,the fantasy slips, where did that come from? I have no idea, but I fucking like it, and its definitely going in the script, you betcha.
I know I should go, go right now,before I lose my forward motion, I could spend days here with her.What were the odds , astronomical that i would be there at just the right time to rescue this specimen from the crematoriums flames. There is a good chance that I am already going to be late to this interview . And a man in my position can’t be throwing away opportunities like this, those fuckers at Williams and Sons put the word out awfully fast. A guy gets caught, one time. A nothing, it could have been a complete misunderstanding, a point of view thing (oooh POV , make a note). Then I had to go and make a stupid fucking crack about how necrophilia is a victimless crime, FUCK !
I have to take it easy, pay attention. I am sweating,turn the AC up, Ingred lies there, my inanimate perfect partner. Waiting for me to put her in whatever position I desire. I walk around to the head of the bed and I know I am too wound up, I am frustrated and angry as I pull Ingred up the bed by grabbing under her shoulders. Her head lolls to the side and her left ear tears off as it rubs against the sheet.
I begin to walk away, but pause. She is so pliant, understanding, so willing. I sigh and unbuckle my belt.
“Damn it, babe, you know I can’t say no to you.”
Drinkers with Writing Problems 