Underestimating Abby
Nathan
I wanted to look like her. Long, voluptuous legs and a tiny waist, with long honey gold hair and baby blue eyes. I wanted to wear a tight red dress, I wanted to wear heels. But I sat there in my half dead body, wearing ill fitted clothes that barely hung on my frame, a satin white scarf tied around my head and my face hidden beneath my coffee.
I could feel his attention on her the entire night, over the brewing scent of my coffee. I could just feel the needles of his attention pinning her down, as he undressed the stranger across the way and yet couldn’t feed the an ounce of his desire into me.
Nathan shuffled across from me with eyes like darts as he continuously glanced at the girl across the way. His shaggy blond hair was past its due date to get trimmed, the pout of his lower lip smoothing out as he glanced back at me.
I finally demanded, “Nathan, what is it?”
He faced me, genuinely confused as to my words. He leaned back, situation himself before stating, “It’s just not working, Abby.”
It’s just not working.
I didn’t want to be fed that utter, and complete bull shit that spilled off of his tongue. It wasn’t simply working. It was me, I could feel it itching under my skin as I dared to even look at him.
There was nothing sexy about cancer, nothing attractive about what it did to my body, how it filled me inside out with grief and self hate. How it terminated me, and had the world shovel up its pity and throw it at your feet. I didn’t want pity.
No, pity was not what I wanted. But I also didn’t want lies, fuzzy happy lies that I could tell myself as to why Nathan had proposed we break our relationship off.
“Why did you stay around this long?” I demanded, “You should have just left.” “Abs, it’s not like that.” he reached across, placing his hand over mine. His eyes spoke poetry and memories into me, spelling them out each in intricate lettering that I feared to remember, “Abby, I love you.” “You don’t love me.” I pulled my hand out from beneath his, searching his face, “You just didn’t want to be the guy that left a girl who was dyeing.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I know you’re lying.” I muttered, shaking my head, staring blissfully out the window. Snow was touching the cement outside, the white powder dusting the glass. I had a million words to say to him, to ask him, to guilt him with and maybe he would stay. But did I want him to stay? So I said the words that had been building up over the past year, and I flooded him with them, “Because not only have I been wilting away, but as I’ve sat around, I have to watch you look at other girls. I have to watch you want other girls, and care about them more than I. I get told that I’ll be able to see you, but when you see me you never look at me.”
He groaned, “Abby, this is what’s wrong with our relationship. Not the cancer, it’s the blaming.”
I turned away, refusing to look at him a second longer. I soaked up the night sky, “Just go.”
I could hear him, the distant sound of his breaths. He didn’t fight me, battle or try to throw words up. He took his paper cup up and left and I stared emotionless out the window.
I could feel his attention on her the entire night, over the brewing scent of my coffee. I could just feel the needles of his attention pinning her down, as he undressed the stranger across the way and yet couldn’t feed the an ounce of his desire into me.
Nathan shuffled across from me with eyes like darts as he continuously glanced at the girl across the way. His shaggy blond hair was past its due date to get trimmed, the pout of his lower lip smoothing out as he glanced back at me.
I finally demanded, “Nathan, what is it?”
He faced me, genuinely confused as to my words. He leaned back, situation himself before stating, “It’s just not working, Abby.”
It’s just not working.
I didn’t want to be fed that utter, and complete bull shit that spilled off of his tongue. It wasn’t simply working. It was me, I could feel it itching under my skin as I dared to even look at him.
There was nothing sexy about cancer, nothing attractive about what it did to my body, how it filled me inside out with grief and self hate. How it terminated me, and had the world shovel up its pity and throw it at your feet. I didn’t want pity.
No, pity was not what I wanted. But I also didn’t want lies, fuzzy happy lies that I could tell myself as to why Nathan had proposed we break our relationship off.
“Why did you stay around this long?” I demanded, “You should have just left.” “Abs, it’s not like that.” he reached across, placing his hand over mine. His eyes spoke poetry and memories into me, spelling them out each in intricate lettering that I feared to remember, “Abby, I love you.” “You don’t love me.” I pulled my hand out from beneath his, searching his face, “You just didn’t want to be the guy that left a girl who was dyeing.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I know you’re lying.” I muttered, shaking my head, staring blissfully out the window. Snow was touching the cement outside, the white powder dusting the glass. I had a million words to say to him, to ask him, to guilt him with and maybe he would stay. But did I want him to stay? So I said the words that had been building up over the past year, and I flooded him with them, “Because not only have I been wilting away, but as I’ve sat around, I have to watch you look at other girls. I have to watch you want other girls, and care about them more than I. I get told that I’ll be able to see you, but when you see me you never look at me.”
He groaned, “Abby, this is what’s wrong with our relationship. Not the cancer, it’s the blaming.”
I turned away, refusing to look at him a second longer. I soaked up the night sky, “Just go.”
I could hear him, the distant sound of his breaths. He didn’t fight me, battle or try to throw words up. He took his paper cup up and left and I stared emotionless out the window.