This isn’t the story I wrote today, it’s a substitute. I had originally posted today’s story (about an hour ago) but the character who was telling the story was relying heavily on the words ‘crazy’ and ‘sane’ and I wasn’t comfortable with coming across in an ableist way. Especially since I didn’t have a lot of room to develop the character and give her context AND because I am pretty sure that the end of the story is actually the beginning of the part she wanted to tell. So, I took it down to work on it but I didn’t want to leave a blank day. So, this is a short piece I wrote a couple of weeks ago, I just edited it a little today.
Somehow, after all this time, she wasn’t sure that he was going to be waiting there when she climbed the stairs. It was ridiculous to think that. There was no way for him to leave without coming down where she was, but, still, somehow, she was never sure that he would be there.
Of course, there were many ways to leave without actually moving your body to a different place, it was possible to check out without moving at all. She had had men like that before, ones who looked at her blankly when she complained, they couldn’t understand why she was annoyed, they were right there with her, weren’t they?
They weren’t capable of understanding the difference between being there and really, actually being there. Even though he had been there in all senses of the words ever since she had taken him home with her, she still didn’t trust it. She still didn’t believe in always.
It was a deep seated thing she figured, she must figure that she wasn’t worth it somehow, that she was too much trouble. If she was too much trouble then he was sure to leave and he would do it all of sudden, too. She would think everything was fine and then he would grab his things, his clothes, his feelings, and pull them all away. She would stand there, gasping and it would only be in retrospect that she would be able to see the path leading here.
She tried to pick fights with him sometimes, just to have control of the time that he gave up on her. She hadn’t made it happen yet, no matter how ridiculous or unreasonably she behaved. It seemed like that should be evidence that she was set, that he was here for however long she needed him, but still, it didn’t sit, it didn’t settle.
She still waited for it all to be withdrawn, for him to back away. She always expected there to be trouble.
Because she was trouble. That’s what they had always said about her: she caused a lot of trouble. She made everything more difficult.
It was only a matter of time until he figured that out.