Plated (a very short thread)

Plated

That book, that one book, he'd seen it sitting on a pile of her many books.  "Things Fall Apart."  He'd carried those words with him whenever she was like this.  In the cover, an African man's face had the texture of soil starved of water.  He never read it and wouldn't try.  But its title caught him offguard, like one of those songs on the radio that easily gets stuck in his head. He'd wished he'd read it now - maybe it could offer some answers. 

These days she was very unhappy, but not broken like she once had been. 

"I don't want this anymore."  She said, staring out the window of the pub.  This pub, he thought, was like walking back into 1980, without the working men.  They were on their own and him more so, alone and caught in something he couldn't quite understand. 

"But I love you."  He drew the feelings from the pit of his stomach and threw them into his gaze until his eyes burned a little.  Feel me, forgive me, feel me. Someone had carved the word minge into the wooden table and he supressed a giggle.  This wasn't the time to point this out to her.  He wasn't even sure she found things like that funny as such; perhaps just peculiar.  Her pint now a quarter full, she glared at her hands, but not in helplessness - that much he could tell.

She was searching for reasons to stay.  She was letting him talk.  Ava had gained weight in the last months, she was still pretty in a way she'd never see.  She'd never lost her lustre, she had always been the most attractive girl in his eyes.  Despite bedding that other...  Despite the extra weight, sitting around her waist unwittingly.  When did it get there? 

"Ave, I know we can make it work."  He was impressed at how much emotion he managed to throw that last sentiment into this, empasse?  Is that the right word?  No, impasse.  He'd heard in a documentary and felt it was fitting here. Forgive me, Ava.  I fucked up. 

"You say "forgive me, Ava, I fucked up."  You say it time and again.  And when does it end?  How many chances does one person get?  It boils down to you not giving a shit about me.  I thought you'd changed."  She chewed the last word with the kind of bitterness that could only come from someone who had really believed it could happen.  Ava wasn't a fool, but she'd loved him enough to want to believe him.

She wasn't budging.  Usually, he could get around her, he knew just how; and now, he was struggling to see that glimmer in her eyes.  The flicker that lies under all he ever does.  He did love Ava, more than he'd loved anyone. But he also hurt her in ways he couldn't stop himself doing.  And she was right - he hadn't cared to not hurt her.  It never entered his mind - the thought of either hurting her, or not.  He hadn't cared and now it had all gone tits up and well, he just wanted her to forgive him.  To get it back to how it was.  It was going alright, and somehow... "Things Fall Apart."  He shook his head wanting the words to fall off and never returned.  The man's face, dry, twitching in his mind.

"I'm not angry about porn.  I'm no prude - I'm angry at your blatant disregard for your promises. You promised you wouldn't look at porn because of what you did..."  she spits out the last word with a harshness that makes him wonder if she will ever stop talking about it. "... why?"

"I can hear it in my mind, Ava, and it sounds stupid.  But it's my mother.  I was so censored as a child and this is my way of getting away from that, I guess."

"For fuck's sake!  My parents weren't exactly throwing porn at me! I'm Catholic, you know."  She wasn't having it.  But he meant it.  His relationship with his mother had always been fraught.  She didn't understand and no one could because she was in fact a lovely woman.

He stared at her. "If it's there on a plate..."

She stared and brought his words to a dull end. She looked down and stared hard at her phone.

"A pet, a dog, is yours to love.  But after that dog bites you and shits on you enough, you begin to see it for the manky, flea-ridden evil thing it is."

"Okay, okay, I've got a problem.  I admit it."   Shit.  She looked up at him as he'd slapped her on the face.  Her eyes wide, her mouth clinched. 

"Ave, listen.  Ave!"  She got up and stormed outside.  He struggled to catch up with her, her dress had ridden up and was showing her bum.  He reached to pull it down, to cover her tights.

"What the fuck!"  She shouted, her eyes gleaming in the dark.  "Your dress, it rode up and your bum was showing..." he trailed off. 

"I don't give a damn about the dress, you hear?  Stop trying to fix me!" 

"Ave..." He called after her.  He knew she was crying.  He knew, for the first time, it wasn't in the bag he'd get her back.  He stood for some time and watched her walk into the Sunday night and thought for a minute.  He chased after her when he couldn't see her anymore.  She'd turned the corner.