(no subject)
Tried something new. I wasn't sure about the topic or the descriptions, but all in all, it's not bad.
The Impossibilities of Love
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, will you stop nuzzling my neck? I’ve been trying to get this crossword puzzle finished for hours.”
She crawled off of his lap, a sullen expression on her face. She had been trying a little something Millie had suggested for ‘spicing up her love life,’ and it didn’t seem to be going very well. John had gotten colder as the years of their marriage went by, and nothing seemed to suit him these days, other than a cup of coffee with 3 teaspoons of milk and 2 sugar lumps, and the New York Times crossword puzzle. Kathryn had tried romantic getaways, aromatherapy, and even new lingerie, but the only thing that ever seemed to come out of her attempts was a disgruntled husband with a harsh tone. She stood up straight, looking at the floor and smoothing her clothing. A rustle of the paper, and John’s face was half hidden - yet another failed attempt. Like a scolded child, she sulked off to the bedroom, cursing Millie and her stupid advice.
John watched her go from the room, peering at her from over his glasses. He heard her stomp up the stairs and into the bedroom, the door slamming behind her. He gave an exasperated sigh; Kathryn had been acting like a teenager lately, instead of a 42 year-old realtor with a daughter in college, and John wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. Given, John wasn’t home very often, but when he was, Kathryn was either trying some new “romantic” strategy that someone - Millie, if he had to take a guess - had convinced her to try, or trudging around the house like a 15 year-old. It was a wonder John even came home at night, and in fact, sometimes, he didn’t. He had slept on the couch in his office more than once, and if he just so happened to go home, it was at an abnormal hour for a psychologist. He had found excuses to work later into the evening and leave earlier in the morning: paperwork, meetings, a client who could only come at a certain time, the list went on. Kathryn accepted these excuses, not happily, but nevertheless, believed them.
John listened cautiously. He could just barely hear the shower running . “Finally,” he mumbled, folding up the paper and setting it on the coffee table. He got up slowly from the chair, and went over to the phone, picking up the receiver and dialing a number gently. The sound of water still rushed from upstairs.
“Hello?” A silky voice rang out over the line. John’s muscles tensed up. No matter how many times he’d called her from the house, he’d never gotten over the fear that Kathryn was listening.
“Hey,” he said softly. He had the urge to hang up the phone, as he always did, but he merely clenched his eyes shut and listened to her voice.
“Well, well, well. Haven’t heard from you in a long time.” The voice that had once been sultry and sweet had now turned a little stonier. He gave a sheepish smile, as though she could somehow see it or feel it through the telephone wires.
“I know. It’s been hard to get away from her at the house, she’s always around.” Truth be told, it had been hard for him to come to terms with it, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with all of this yet. But he didn’t tell her that.
Silence on the end of the other line.
“It’s not like you’ve called to schedule an appointment with me, either,” he retorted after several seconds of unbearable silence. He heard her snicker through the receiver, and it felt like a shot to the stomach. He gritted his teeth, waiting for her reply, waiting for the laughter to stop.
“It must be hard for you to say that, huh? I know they teach shrinks to never get involved with clients, don’t they? I mean, that has to be one of the first things they teach at Psych school.” The laughing continued. He felt slightly out of breath, and he could feel his cheeks turning red. Embarrassment - this was the power she had over him. He grimaced slightly at her words, at the truth. She was a patient, a client, who had come to him with her marriage problems. It was never supposed to go this far, never supposed to get out of hand like this, but now it had, and he couldn’t stop himself. He was a train, veering off the tracks and about to ignite.
“Listen, I’m free now. Where do you want to meet?”
“Your office sounds delightful.” She knew how to do it, how to manipulate his every move, weaken him down to the bare minimum. He gave another exasperated sigh.
“If you insist.” A click and she was gone. He hung up the receiver.
John sank down against the wall next to the phone. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. He was tired; he had been for years now. His life had gone from horrifically boring and guilt-free to a secretive, conniving lie in just a matter of months. He had never meant for it to go this far.
Upstairs, the water cut off. Kathryn leaned her head against the warm, white tile, smoothing her wet hair back. Her breath hit the ceramic, hot and heavy. She’d had the shower so warm, the air felt heavy, and the condensation fell heavily on her skin. Where had she gone wrong? Things had been fine when Laura had still been in the house, but the month she left for college, everything had changed. Kathryn tried to trace the path of destruction in her head, but to her, it was a drop-off, not a steady decline. Her fingers were wrinkled, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from age or water - did it even matter anymore?
She pulled the curtain open, stepping out of the shower and onto the rug. She took her towel off the hook and wrapped it around her body. She could remember when their towels were soft and fluffy; after many washes, they were now coarse. She took a step to the counter, wiping a hand across the mirror. She stared at herself for a moment - where had those bags under her eyes come from, or those wrinkles on her forehead? Her eyes were less blue, older. She was a woman aging more in her mind than her body. She was a 42 year-old realtor, with a daughter in college and a husband who paid more attention to ink boxes on a recycled piece of paper.
The door opened. Her eyes snapped to her husband, slipping his head in carefully. “What do you need?” she asked, a hand moving up instinctively to keep her towel tight.
“I just got a page from a client. He’s having a breakdown about his comatose mother, and he needs to see me right away.” He averted his eyes to the floor, partially out of modesty, and partially out of guilt.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s fine. What time will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. It shouldn’t take very long.”
She nodded, and then realizing he wasn’t watching her, quietly said, “All right.”
John went to close the door. Kathryn rubbed her temple; the heat had given her a headache. He paused with the door a quarter of an inch open, and thought about what he was going to do, and about how he had lied to Kathryn, and about how she was standing there, rubbing her temples and sighing.
The door opened again, and John swept into the room. Suddenly, she was wrapped up in his arms, in the bathroom, in a towel, with the fog sitting heavily on the air.
“I love you, Kathryn.”
And then he was gone.
The Impossibilities of Love
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, will you stop nuzzling my neck? I’ve been trying to get this crossword puzzle finished for hours.”
She crawled off of his lap, a sullen expression on her face. She had been trying a little something Millie had suggested for ‘spicing up her love life,’ and it didn’t seem to be going very well. John had gotten colder as the years of their marriage went by, and nothing seemed to suit him these days, other than a cup of coffee with 3 teaspoons of milk and 2 sugar lumps, and the New York Times crossword puzzle. Kathryn had tried romantic getaways, aromatherapy, and even new lingerie, but the only thing that ever seemed to come out of her attempts was a disgruntled husband with a harsh tone. She stood up straight, looking at the floor and smoothing her clothing. A rustle of the paper, and John’s face was half hidden - yet another failed attempt. Like a scolded child, she sulked off to the bedroom, cursing Millie and her stupid advice.
John watched her go from the room, peering at her from over his glasses. He heard her stomp up the stairs and into the bedroom, the door slamming behind her. He gave an exasperated sigh; Kathryn had been acting like a teenager lately, instead of a 42 year-old realtor with a daughter in college, and John wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. Given, John wasn’t home very often, but when he was, Kathryn was either trying some new “romantic” strategy that someone - Millie, if he had to take a guess - had convinced her to try, or trudging around the house like a 15 year-old. It was a wonder John even came home at night, and in fact, sometimes, he didn’t. He had slept on the couch in his office more than once, and if he just so happened to go home, it was at an abnormal hour for a psychologist. He had found excuses to work later into the evening and leave earlier in the morning: paperwork, meetings, a client who could only come at a certain time, the list went on. Kathryn accepted these excuses, not happily, but nevertheless, believed them.
John listened cautiously. He could just barely hear the shower running . “Finally,” he mumbled, folding up the paper and setting it on the coffee table. He got up slowly from the chair, and went over to the phone, picking up the receiver and dialing a number gently. The sound of water still rushed from upstairs.
“Hello?” A silky voice rang out over the line. John’s muscles tensed up. No matter how many times he’d called her from the house, he’d never gotten over the fear that Kathryn was listening.
“Hey,” he said softly. He had the urge to hang up the phone, as he always did, but he merely clenched his eyes shut and listened to her voice.
“Well, well, well. Haven’t heard from you in a long time.” The voice that had once been sultry and sweet had now turned a little stonier. He gave a sheepish smile, as though she could somehow see it or feel it through the telephone wires.
“I know. It’s been hard to get away from her at the house, she’s always around.” Truth be told, it had been hard for him to come to terms with it, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with all of this yet. But he didn’t tell her that.
Silence on the end of the other line.
“It’s not like you’ve called to schedule an appointment with me, either,” he retorted after several seconds of unbearable silence. He heard her snicker through the receiver, and it felt like a shot to the stomach. He gritted his teeth, waiting for her reply, waiting for the laughter to stop.
“It must be hard for you to say that, huh? I know they teach shrinks to never get involved with clients, don’t they? I mean, that has to be one of the first things they teach at Psych school.” The laughing continued. He felt slightly out of breath, and he could feel his cheeks turning red. Embarrassment - this was the power she had over him. He grimaced slightly at her words, at the truth. She was a patient, a client, who had come to him with her marriage problems. It was never supposed to go this far, never supposed to get out of hand like this, but now it had, and he couldn’t stop himself. He was a train, veering off the tracks and about to ignite.
“Listen, I’m free now. Where do you want to meet?”
“Your office sounds delightful.” She knew how to do it, how to manipulate his every move, weaken him down to the bare minimum. He gave another exasperated sigh.
“If you insist.” A click and she was gone. He hung up the receiver.
John sank down against the wall next to the phone. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. He was tired; he had been for years now. His life had gone from horrifically boring and guilt-free to a secretive, conniving lie in just a matter of months. He had never meant for it to go this far.
Upstairs, the water cut off. Kathryn leaned her head against the warm, white tile, smoothing her wet hair back. Her breath hit the ceramic, hot and heavy. She’d had the shower so warm, the air felt heavy, and the condensation fell heavily on her skin. Where had she gone wrong? Things had been fine when Laura had still been in the house, but the month she left for college, everything had changed. Kathryn tried to trace the path of destruction in her head, but to her, it was a drop-off, not a steady decline. Her fingers were wrinkled, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from age or water - did it even matter anymore?
She pulled the curtain open, stepping out of the shower and onto the rug. She took her towel off the hook and wrapped it around her body. She could remember when their towels were soft and fluffy; after many washes, they were now coarse. She took a step to the counter, wiping a hand across the mirror. She stared at herself for a moment - where had those bags under her eyes come from, or those wrinkles on her forehead? Her eyes were less blue, older. She was a woman aging more in her mind than her body. She was a 42 year-old realtor, with a daughter in college and a husband who paid more attention to ink boxes on a recycled piece of paper.
The door opened. Her eyes snapped to her husband, slipping his head in carefully. “What do you need?” she asked, a hand moving up instinctively to keep her towel tight.
“I just got a page from a client. He’s having a breakdown about his comatose mother, and he needs to see me right away.” He averted his eyes to the floor, partially out of modesty, and partially out of guilt.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s fine. What time will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. It shouldn’t take very long.”
She nodded, and then realizing he wasn’t watching her, quietly said, “All right.”
John went to close the door. Kathryn rubbed her temple; the heat had given her a headache. He paused with the door a quarter of an inch open, and thought about what he was going to do, and about how he had lied to Kathryn, and about how she was standing there, rubbing her temples and sighing.
The door opened again, and John swept into the room. Suddenly, she was wrapped up in his arms, in the bathroom, in a towel, with the fog sitting heavily on the air.
“I love you, Kathryn.”
And then he was gone.