Irritable Male Syndrome

Thursday, April 21, 2005

(4th installment. Read the first three, then come back)

The LCD screen lit her face while she read as I sat on the bed and worried. She laughed at all the appropriate places. That is, until she got to a paragraph near the end.

"Hate fuck? You wanted to hate-fuck me?" she eeked out inbetween uneasy laughs.

I explained that it was hyperbole for effect, and that at the time, I was mad at her. Sure, I wouldn't have minded having sex with her, but even I acknowledge that using the phrase was a little strong. Not that I would ever go back and edit it, though.

"Still. Hate-Fuck? She questioned again.

"We both know it would be impossible to hate-fuck someone you don't actually hate. I haven't forgiven you for how you treated me, but believe me, you wouldn't be here right now if I hated you." I replied.

She let it go.

Laying on the bed, I extended my arms and made grabby hands towards her. When you take something from a baby, they usually extend their arms, flex their fingers, clench and unclench their tiny, fat fists because they want the object back--that's what I call "grabby hands". That's my way of saying to Emily "Get over 'ere." And you know what? It works. I perform grabby hands, and she obeys.

I pulled her close and we curled up on top of a clump of sheets in the middle of my unmade bed, talking about other sections of the story.

"You'd really have babies with me?" she asked.

I've vehemently insisted that I never want kids, mostly because I haven't found anyone that I'd be comfortable having kids with. I'm sure that once I find that perfect person, everything will feel "right" enough, and hey, I may even want her to squirt out a few of my red-faced alien offspring. The prospect of having kids with Emily has never scared me, though. Will that every happen? All signs point to no, but if anything, it proves that I'm not a completeley heartless, selfish asshole. There's hope for me yet.

"So...you thought we'd ultimately get divorced?" she finally asked. I was waiting for this one just because I knew it was easily defensible.

Given her actions over the course of the months after returning from Ireland, there was nothing in the way she spoke, the way she acted, or the way that she reacted to me that made me believe otherwise. She was selfish, and for lack of a better way to put it, acted crazy. She nodded as if saying "You're right." and that part of the conversation was dropped.

At the end of an awkward silence, I unwrapped myself from her body and got ready to meet up with friends at Old Chicago. It's odd--most of my friends, even my very best of friends, have never seen me with a girlfriend. And I can honestly say that they've never seen me with one that I've truly been interested in. Sure, there have been other girls, but with most of them I'm apathetic and indifferent. With Emily, though, I'm a retard.

Yeah, a huge retard. In fact, I would go so far as to say that when I'm around her, I definitely don't "look gay".

We only stayed at Old Chicago for one beer because Anthony and the guys were sitting outside, and Emily was too stubborn to bring a jacket with. From the OC, we went to the Independent to grab something to eat and a half an hour later, we were laying on my bed again, very much sober.

It was then that Emily leaned in and kissed me.

Anyone that really knows me, knows that I am not a sappy or overemotional person, nor am I all that romantic.

This kiss, though, there was something different about it.

Why is the room suddenly spinning?

[to be continued]

2 Comments:

At 11:02 AM, Blogger Chris Halverson said...

Err...Part 3 is where? Don't leave us hanging!

 
At 11:04 AM, Blogger Irritable Male Syndrome said...

Did I skip right over it? Crap, I'll dig it out and fit it in there.

 

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