فيزا
'Fay?' I hear Sean's voice through the phone, and although I was expecting it to be him like I'm expecting it to rain in Seattle tomorrow and for the rest of the week, I can't help but keep my fingers crossed that him calling me 'Fay' like nothing happened between us before I hung up the phone on him... won't be the prelude to him breaking my heart with a few cuss words again. Or with yet another verbal attack, because with Sean, one can never know what's gonna happen next for sure, and one always has to be in the lookout for his bullshit. But reasonably, what have I done to watch my back from his bullshit now, if I have him well figured out and know there's a strikingly high chance he may as well be an ass and fuck me up some more ? Wasn't picking up the phone on him an act of surrendering to him and his bullshit all over again? And if I knew it, why did I have to do the damn thing at my own expense? What hold does this dude have over me, to say it à la Chrissie ? I love him from the bottom of my heart, but does it justify the fact that I get on my knees and beg him to hit me anytime he's feeling like it ? Asking for more beating up as soon as he's done with the first round of it? Only to later be called an insensitive egomaniac ass, when in reality all I'm doing is trying not to leave his side because, silly me, I'm feeling for him? Is this love, pity, or what else exactly? Please someone help me figure it out before I go insane, or before he gaslights me again.
'Sean?' I mumble into the phone, and the simple act of pronouncing his name, with my ever so sibilant s sound and with my ever so nasal n sound, makes me feel like I'm the idiot in this sitch. It makes me feel like after all, doing something as simple as calling him by his name at the registry office is a little too much for me, even if I'm well aware that I'm doing something I've done at least a couple thousand times prior. I don't know what he's got to tell me, I don't know what gave him the bravado to call me after we both came to a mutual agreement not to speak to the other one for a while, I don't know why I picked up his goddamned call to even begin with, if I was aware of the risks entailed in it... but when I can hear him giggle at my mention of his name, my heart swells into my chest and begins to beat at a more healthy rate. A lot to say, considering that I am affected by modest bradycardia, and my heart rate never goes above 50 beats per minute ... of course, unless I'm either shagging him, or balling on adrenalin pills. I have this guy well figured out, and I know that even if he's acting impassible and tough as nails to save face, he's getting all flustered and thinking that he loves the way I say his name. It's just that he won't tell me that as he would've normally done in another instance, because it would be a little awkward of a stubborn man like him to do the thing in our current, rather compromised state. So, what do we do with ourselves now, love? You're calling me Fay, and in return for that I'd like to call you Seanie, but I can't do the damn thing because I'm pretty sure you'd tell me you find that nickname puke inducing... and you'd break my heart if you were to tell it to my face like you did when I called you 'babe' not so long ago. You're giggling because you like the way I say your name, or because my accent turns you on, or both, but you won't tell it to my face because you're only into cussing me and making me feel miserable (for what YOU think I've done to you) at the minute. So, what we wanna do ? Make love, in the metaphorical sense of it, or war? Choose wisely, and this time please bear in mind that I come from the land of love, war and olives before you mess up with my big... big, romantic heart and my big, big... warrior spirit. And treat me well, if one day you aspire to eat my self-harvested olives in my backyard back home with me, too.
'Ahem, is there a way we can... like... accelerate things? And pretend that it's Christmas tomorrow?' He breaks the ice, and I don't know whether I should just swoon for him now that he's being sweet to me again, that without being asked to, and after I was the one to hang up the phone on him in the very first place... or if I should just roll my eyes back in annoyance because his mood is swinging faster than my nonexistent balls, and I don't think I can handle any more of his swings for the rest of the night. Even if it's the 'good' swings we're talking about. He's crawling back to me in his own, ironic, lighthearted manner, that after he told me he would've wanted nothing to do with me until Christmas time, five minutes ago ... so I go all in for the first option, aka swooning, but in a way that ain't too obvious, and cock in a very accomplished, very loved up, soft smile. One that Sean can't see, but that I can feel radiating from my lips to the outside. Babe (even if he doesn't like to be called like that right now) is crawling back to me, probably realising his pettiness and his mistakes with me, he's making the effort all on his own like he always does after fucking me up... and I'm here for him, smiling like an idiot, and trying to hold myself back from telling him 'I'm yours, do whatever you want to me right fucking now, Mr. Honda Four'. And I chuckle like the full fledged idiot that I am, when I remember that not only Sean is my dream man, but he also owns my dream bike, and it was that gorgeous, midnight blue Honda CB750 that had me looking for him at Cuntrell's basement party of a while back. I almost squeal out loud in excitement, when I remember that Sean once told me not to buy a Honda Four (and go for a fancy ass Moto Guzzi instead) because he would've let him ride his anytime, as soon as we'd be back in Seattle. It can't be Christmas tomorrow, as he's saying, sadly much if I'm entitled to have my take on this, because I'm missing him lots and I'm wishing it could be, and if it could be I still probably wouldn't be in Seattle anyways... but it can be him and I in Seattle together, someday. It will be him and I in Seattle together, someday. I don't know when it'll be, but it will be. I have a feeling that it will be, and let me tell you, my feelings are rarely wrong. Mark my words. Faiza 6:66.
