Like we always used to be.
Before she disappeared and they told me she was dead.
Long before the blood that climbed the walls and soaked into our clothes.
I can explain to her, and she’ll understand. I know she will.
And then I’ll understand why she left me.
I won’t go to the police and tell them about her, because that part of our life is over. I’m not dwelling on the past, on theshoulda, coulda, woulda. I’ve moved past all that. I’m not angry. I never really was with her. How could I ever be?
She was my love, my life. She was my everything.
And it’s all going to be okay now.
I smile, and then I clean myself up, and then I laugh and know it won’t always be like this—coming into my own hand in my kitchen. I turn and start to make some soup for myself, because fuck it, I’m hungry and I can’t let myself wither away. Not today.
I pull out a can, it’s leek and potato, and that makes me happy. I think I deserve something good tonight. And this soup makes much more sense to me. The consistency and the color work in harmony with one another.
I open the can and tip the soup into my pan, and I smile because I know that one day soon I’ll be making this soup for the two of us.
And a tea for her and a coffee for me.
We’ll have breakfast in bed, and make love three times before noon.
We’ll take long walks on Sundays. And we’ll get a fucking dog and call it Shep or Fluffy something equally stupid like that because we’re going to be so deliriously happy. We’ll be one of those annoying couples that holds hands and kisses in the rain. And I’ll love the rain, not hate it like I do now.
“It’s all going to be okay,” I say to myself. “It’s all going to be okay now, Ethan.”
The banging upstairs has stopped, and I hear the man groan as he comes and I cheer for him.
Loudly.
Probably too loudly.
And then I clap.
And if he were here I’d probably pat him on the back and tell him well done, because good for him. At least he’s fucking living!
His wife might be a miserable, ugly bitch for all I know. She might nag and nag and never fuck him. Never even give him blow jobs no matter how hard he works. This might be the only way he can get his kicks, and who am I too judge so harshly on that?
I’m no one, but I won’t always be.
Soon I’ll be Carrie’s no one.
Which means I won’t be a no one at all.
I’ll behereverything.
And she’ll love me like I love her.
Like we promised we would forever.
And she will always fuck me.
And always give me blow jobs.
And she’ll never make me go see a prostitute because she’ll be a good fucking wife. And a good fucking mother.
