He didn’t have the heart to take it down. Everyone thinks girls are more emotional than guys, but it seems to be the opposite. A girl’s ruthlessness is so much more damaging when just a week, a day, an instant before she was seemingly a helpless little thing, a slave to her emotions, and the next, she remorselessly does the thing that hurts most. At least guys don’t put on an act. A girl can pretend she never saw it coming from her guy, but deep down she’s not surprised, whether or not she admits it.
It was a corny picture of them kissing on the beach, his arm outstretched, holding the camera. As he was primarily focused on taking the picture, the kiss appeared awkward, and it was. And the horizon was uneven. He hated uneven horizons in pictures. Nonetheless, it was his favorite picture because it elicited fond memories of one of the best days of his life. It’s funny how sometimes the best days aren’t necessarily full of fun activities. Most of the time they’re simple, relatively uneventful days. The beauty and depth of these days can’t be fully appreciated until they have come and gone, which allows the mind time to subtly embellish and glorify them.
He had loved her more than he thought it possible to love someone. Whenever he thought of his future, she was there. He imagined what she would look like when she was old and wrinkled. He loved her old face. He marveled at how beautiful and intelligent their future kids were. He had vivid dreams about them. There were three: two sons and a daughter who was the youngest. What was he supposed to do now? Did those dream children all of a sudden cease to exist? They seemed so real.
He still did love her even though she had gotten drunk and fucked his former best friend. On camera. His friend’s phone was stolen and the video was plastered all over the internet. She was such a slut for his former friend. Why didn’t she ever fuck him like that? Why didn’t she do those things for him? He knew why but wasn’t prepared to admit it to himself. He left the thought on the fine line between the subconscious and the conscious, aware of its presence but unwilling to let it cross.
The picture remained. He looked at it all day, on the wall in his cubicle under the flourescent lights, next to a drooping plant his co-worker got him for Christmas. When he received the plant he felt as though he were needlessly given the additional daily task of watering it. But he forced a smile and said thanks and made a nice comment about its appearance, he forgot what exactly.
He wasn’t getting anything done. Every time he saw the picture he saw not the girl he loved, but a slut bent over getting fucked by his best friend, yelling at him to fuck her harder and choke her harder. The picture remained.
There was a girl in the lobby who was a security guard, the cutest security guard he ever saw. Now that’s not saying much, but she was cute. He noticed she didn’t say hi to everyone, but she’d always smile and say hi to him, a smile that was bit too pronounced to be just a courtesy. He had already planned what he would say to her and the interaction had played out in his head a thousand times.
Hi, he would say. I’ve noticed you noticing me, and wanted you to know that I’ve also been noticing you. Then he would smile and say, Join me for a drink Friday when we’re off of work? She would giggle at the corny but confidently delivered line, say yes, then he’d give her his phone and tell her to put her phone number in. She would, then he’d tell her he’d call her Friday around 6 to tell her where to meet him. She’d smile big, even bigger than when she said hi to him, and she’d say she can’t wait.
He looked at the picture again. That familiar rage filled his head. That familiar sadness welled up in his chest. Why did he do this to himself?
He took the elevator down to the lobby and walked up to the security desk. She was there with another security guard. All the times he went through it in his head she was alone at the desk. Fuck it, he thought, and walked straight up, put his hands on the counter, and said Hi. Shit, he thought in that split second…you were just supposed to say the line.
Um, I noticed…well I was wondering if you wanted to drink…grab a drink with me Friday afternoon. I mean after we get out of work obviously. He laughed a nervous laugh. She said thanks but she had a boyfriend. The other security guard tried his best to act casual, but it was obvious he was suppressing a smile.
That’s too bad. Well, see ya later.
He knew they’d talk about him right when he left. He felt stupid. But he felt better than he had in a while. At least he made a move. At least he felt like he had balls again. Big, bulging balls swinging between his thighs. He smiled to himself as he got in the elevator, and when he got back to his desk, before sitting down, he pulled the picture off of his cubicle wall and looked at it. It was different now. He actually felt bad for her.
As he crumpled the picture and dropped it in his trash bin, a wry, patronizing smile took over his face.
“Silly cunt.”