WCOST Prologue

PROLOGUE

We shared our mutual disgust with each other, with each moment we looked across the table. We could only look towards something other than what is right before our eyes and look beyond - to every space imaginable to our senses. We tried to make sense of what is now only a fleeting memory to us and think that what we did was something beyond our normal thresholds. We can never go back to the past nor could we never let go of what exists now between us.

You begrudgingly lift your fork, waving it across the air nonchalantly, like a pseudo-war surrender sign. This is over. We both know it between our thoughts and between bites. That after this, there will be no us or there will be only the memory of what was us - this is our reality.

"Fuck, what are we doing?" I exhale, sighing at the situation.

"Something we should have done in the past."

"We could start over again, right? We could forget everything that happened and look towards the future?" I look, feigning a dissatisfaction that is voiced across as desperation.

"Fuck, haven't we already talked about this? There were no us. There wasn't even a 'something' we could talk about." Dropping the fork, I could only gaze towards the remains of half-eaten filet mignon and mashed potatoes.

There are no more words for us. Only the unwavering silence that we shared. The only thing left for us to do was to stand up and walk away, and let things stop happening. It was as if we were conspiring towards something melodramatic like a wild romance novelette grasping towards an anticlimactic ending that readers fake surprise at.

But we weren't finished yet. Every word said was something that pierced through.

"What we had was just this - something convenient for the both of us. I needed someone to fuck, you needed someone who would fake love and present something happy like a retarded lovesick fool."

"I know that but -"

"What? You knew it deep inside and you keep suppressing it like some diminuted fool. You know we were in this for the sex. You knew that there is only this line,"

Pressing the fork down on the filet mignon, the knife slowly carved through the meat, mercilessly.

"This line between fucking and being inanely hopeful." Bite. Gnaw. Swallow. Seeing bits and pieces of meat crawling down your neck, digesting.

"We had a one night stand that spanned several fuck dates after. Don't get things over your head and assume things all on your own."

"I'm not assuming anything."

"I'm not going to play around with somebody who can't even disassociate sex with love. We had this discussion already, right from the very start."

"If that's what you want, then fine. Fuck me all you want. But don't pretend that what we had was nothing more than fucking because it was. You know it and I know it."

Fastidiously, I wiped my mouth with table napkins and stood.

"We could argue all night long.  But at the end of the day, it's gonna be me who'll get your shit together after we fuck all night."

Turning back, I could see the disdain behind your eyes and glimpse that somehow my words struck home.

"If that's what you want fine."

"Fine. Fucking get off on your own then." I got up and threw the napkin down, leaving a few thousand bills and gathering my dignity somewhat intact.

I watched as your face tainted with the slightest bit of regret, somehow managing to keep it under wraps for the time being. You knew you couldn't let go of me. Just as I knew I couldn't get over being fucked by you.