Being outstanding as a writer in the big city of New York, is nowhere as hard as being in a committed relationship, and Camille Forest joggles family, a writing career, with a possible sociopath who might as well be the "Goldilocks' Reaper", a seria...
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Camille, you stupid...stupid little child!
Momma would've been hammering her nags at me, if she'd heard me rant so passionately about a boy.
Heartbroken over a boy? Caramel you Poor...poor child! Men are who they are. They'dwakeupand walk away without a good reason. Next thing, you'd see him and some chic hash-tagging "relationshipgoals" on a make-cuteselfie on Instagram.
She'd then shift her tone to a more serious—scolding—one. Camille, debesentenderquealgunos hombres son perros. Don't fall for their façades as I did with your father.
She would forcibly break her voice, and feign a sniff at the end of the sentence, while looking weak as she dries her teary eyes with a cloth, before continuing her torturing words and euphemistic sympathies, one I roll my eyes to every time.
My poor...poor Caramel!
After a near thirty years marriage turn cinder, it would be more of a shock if she weren't this much of Seuss' new Grinch on Valentine, and a natural anti-cupid with gray arrows that cures love and sows potent hate.
My mind reverts from her to the enveloping warmth and the seductive glares I notice leaping at me from drunken men sprawled all over the place. The sight of them eeks me, yet my eyes fights to avoid Curtis' as much as I can.
My gaze first lands on the glass of whiskey on the table, before shifting to Curtis, and those eyes of his like withering petals and raining ash, glues to my face, and I notice how he dauntingly battles a smirk from popping up. Damn him! I'm sure he's mentally chanting "I told you so!" What a moron!
"...yeah, that's how it went down." I conclude my tale, and await his verdict.
It has been quite a talk, and definitely the most difficult thing I've ever had to say, since I first uttered "gu gu gah gah!" moments after I saw my mother's weak eyes fighting too damn hard to stay open.
Talking with Curtis, I'd midways during the whole breakup tale, had to build a mental image of myself blowing into a paper bag, while physically staying perfectly levelheaded so as not to hyperventilate and break into tears each time I say Caleb, or Le Bernadin.
Damn! Tilting my face up to cuff the tears? How despicable has love left me?
"I'm so sorry Camille..." He says so softly, and his eyes gleam heavily, and strangely, that makes it a lot more annoying. "I..."
"Pfft! Do I look like a two year old? Quit the crap and say what you really think, asshole! Say how grateful you are that I'm single; remind me again why Caleb was never good for me; flaunt your wealth in my face and promise to give me a better life than whatsoever Caleb did. Quit pretending to be empathic, it's disgusting!"
