“I wish you were more interesting” she sighs.
            “How… just how… how am I meant to remain interesting… let alone get more interesting?” I ask irritably.  “You think I’ve been keeping secrets all these years?  Oh… wait… I forgot to mention… I’m a superhero and world renowned fucking pianist… I just kept it quiet so I could surprise you after ten fucking years.”
            “There’s no need to swear” she grumbles.
            “I am boring… I am very boring… you knew that when I met you.  I knew that eventually your tits would droop.  We don’t particularly like each other.  I have no idea why we are still even talking…”
            “I don’t know” she shrugs and tries to subtly yank her shoulders back.  “I figured we’d grow closer… share experiences…”
            “You want to go shopping and spit out children.  I do not.  I never have.  It’s not ‘growing’ you want… it’s me giving in” I growl.
            “I just think a baby would bring us closer.”
            “No… it would make us grow apart… that kind of thing happens in prison… after I’ve chucked it in the river.”
            “I’m serious” she says and places her hand on mine.
            “So am I” I say and stab her hand with a fork, regardless of it passing through into my own.
            She stares at me.  Then she stares at the fork.
            I realise I made have made a bit of a faux pas.
            She tries to pull her hand back.  My hand and the table go with it.
            “Why?” she asks numbly.
            “I don’t really know…” I say meekly.  “I guess I wanted to get my message across… the fork was the punctuation… I’m really sorry.”
            “Please pull the fork out” she asks sadly.
            I try.
            “I think it’s pretty well stuck” I apologise.
            “Why do you hate me?” she asks.
            “Do we have to talk about this now?” I ask awkwardly.
            “Yes, I think it’s about time we had this talk.”
            “Listen, you’re in shock… it’s understandable” I say calmly.
            Blood is pooling on the table.
            “Maybe we should call for an ambulance?” I suggest.
            “The phone’s in the kitchen” she tells me.
            I look at the width of the table and then the width of the door to the kitchen.
            “Do you have any friends due round?” I ask.
            “No… I thought you didn’t like them…”
            “I don’t” I sigh “but does that really matter?  I’m sure you hate my friends… it’s no reason not to have people round.”
            “You don’t have any friends” she corrects me.  “That’s part of the reason I think we should really work on being each other’s best friend.”
            “We don’t have anything to talk about” I sigh.  “Really… what are we going to do?  Tell each other about the places we went with each other?”
            “That might be a romantic idea” she says brightening up. “I think it would be quite romantic to tell each other how much we enjoyed our time together.”
            “I’ll start” I snap.  “We went to the supermarket.  I didn’t want to go.  Every time you picked up something I wanted to slit your throat with a steak-knife.”
            “I can’t believe you’d say anything so horrible” she whimpers.
            “I’m really sorry… I think it must be the pain…” I say weakly.
            “Do you think horrible things like that often?” she asks, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes.
            “Sometimes…” I say.
            “Why?  What have I done?”
            “I don’t think it’s anything you’ve done exactly… I think… you know how they say ‘familiarity breeds contempt’?” I ask.
            “Yes…”
            “Remember when the string broke on your tampon and you made me use the tweezers to get it out?”
            She just nods.
            “That was too familiar” I sigh.
            “Married people have moments like that…” she says, a little anger flaring.
            “Look… I’m sure they do” I concede, “but it’s not what I signed up for…”
            “What exactly did you sign up for?”
            “I just figured you were the best I could do and so I decided to trick you into signing something” I shrug.
            “That’s so sweet… you thought I was the best” she smiles.
            “No… it’s really not sweet…  I have very low self-esteem…  It was either you or that fucking dumptruck who ran the chippy…  I mean… you used to look alright… but it’s not like I felt clean after I touched you…”
            I realise this might have been the wrong time for honesty.
            “I only married you because you seemed to be the only person who didn’t care that I had herpes” she snaps.
            “Wait… what…” I say, looking up from trying to get the fork out.
            “And anyway, you kept telling me you were going to be a solicitor.”
            “Who in their right mind would want to marry a solicitor?” I ask incredulously.
            “It sounded like you’d be rich…”
            “I was exaggerating…”
            “You were lying.”
            “Yes I was.”
            “Why would you lie like that?”
            “Because I wanted to keep fucking you… at the time.”
            “I’ve only ever fucked you because I thought you’d be rich.”
            “Why didn’t you stop when I dropped out of University?”
            “I thought you’d go back…”
            “It was eight years ago…”
            “I thought if I kept asking…” she shrugs.  “Oh, and your parents have got a lot of money… and they’re old…”
            “You’ve been looking forward to my parents dying?” I ask in horror.
            “Haven’t you?”
            “No” I yelp.
            “You don’t like them though…”
            “What kind of inhuman monster are you?” I ask.
            “I didn’t say I wanted them to die…  I’m just saying I was aware there was a back-up plan.”
            “Is there a single thing you like about me other than my eventual wealth?” I ask.
            “No… now that I think about it…”
            She places her other hand on mine.
            “But, there wasn’t much that I really hated about you.”
            I stare at her.
            “There were other rich guys… ones that had actual money” I suggest.
            “It didn’t work out with them.  I was too clingy” she shrugs.
            “I thought you liked me…”
            “I’m clingy… maybe it warps my perceptions a little.  I’m on a lot of medication.”
            “You never told me you were on medication…”
            “See… we’ve found something to talk about…”
            “What medication are you on” I say nervously.
            “I don’t want to talk about it” she growls.
            “Are you on a lot of it?” I ask suspiciously.
            “Look, would you rather I took the pills or I left you?”
            “I have no feelings either way right now.”

back to duck.