20 In 5 -- Vol. III -- Bad Girl

by Amanda Firefox

Happens with "nice" boys, too.

Love.


He says that he loves me. He says that, but I swear sometimes I can see the lie behind his eyes. He doesn't love me. He loves her. He loves that knife-edged easy lay with her blond highlights and her stiletto-heel shoes, that razor-short hair and board-flat chest. He likes me. He likes parts of me, but he doesn't love me. 


Maybe I should get a nose ring, I sometimes think. She has a nose ring. Maybe if I get a nose ring, he'll love me the way he loves her. Maybe if I get a nose ring, the shadow that hangs over our relationship will go away.


But that's not it. It's never just the nose ring. It's the little things that she does and I don't. It's the way she holds her cigarettes, ash gathering at the end as she stares blankly at him, laughs ragged little laughs at his ragged little jokes. It's the way she stays just out of reach, a distraction to tempt him, tease him and burn him with her smoky voice before she lets him wander back home to me. It's the way she doesn't do his laundry, the way she doesn't pay for dinner on dates, the way she doesn't ask him to come to bed at night.


Maybe if I dye my hair blond, cut it razor-short, I sometimes think. Maybe if I do that, he'll love me the way he loves her. 


But it's not the physical. Love isn't the kind of thing that a breast reduction or a pair of new shoes can buy. Love isn't the kind of thing that can be held or forced with a new and different image. Love is the kind of thing that asks when will we get married? or how many kids should we stop at? It's the kind of thing that says I bought you this ring or I'm pregnant, again. It's an understanding, sometimes firm, sometimes easily stolen. I still love him, but I know he no longer loves me.


I wonder if they know that I'm watching them, I sometimes think. Sitting in the car, my eyes no longer moisten as he kisses her, tells her the jokes that leave her shaking, arms crossed over the thin sleeves of a too-tight leather jacket. I wonder how long this can go on, this cycle of meeting and watching, this cycle of jokes that leads to the hotel room, the sound of a headboard smacking a wall over and over again as I sit in the next room, just listening, just listening.


Yesterday I bought myself a gun. It's smooth, black. The bullets clink in my purse like loose change as I walk. Three weeks ago I spoke to a lawyer. The paperwork sits in an envelope I keep between our mattress and the box-spring. I think about it every time we make love, the papers I've signed and he hasn't burning a hole in my back as I try to moan, try to make him love me again.


Maybe men just fall for bad girls the way women fall for bad boys, I sometimes think.


Maybe it's time I stopped being so good.

Announcing February 2012 Edition of "20 in 5"


We hope you enjoyed this FREE article from Volume III of our monthly ebook, "20 in 5." Go purchase a copy right now at  Smashwords to enjoy 19 other flash fiction stories. Brought to you directly by Mis Tribus.