flatline

Ain’t healthy,

those two.

They seem

to enjoy each other.

Are we like them?

Sometimes. Usually,

we’re much better at it.

Better.

Imagine thinkin’

that.

I know.

Did’ya get my

flowers?

Hours ago.

They’re cold now. Unresponsive.

Yer reachin’ out

to me.

Be nice to have

an alibi.

Impossible. Sorry.

Not normal to have

what can’t exist.

I’ll eat what ya

can’t arrange or

shoot. Call

it manners.

Matters to me. Not

helpful, honestly.

I could lie and

tell ya I don’t wanna

be doin’ this.

Cherry’s calling.

But I do

wanna. Be doin’ it.

Ya know?

No.

Much rather

instigate. Shine a torch in

your eyes.

No light to shine.

Eyes neither.

Glasses?

Headache?

Barely.

Can you show me on the

dolly where you were touched?

Get fucked. Yer

really doin’ this right

now?

Ya want me to

smack it outta ya?

Teasing only. We’ll

talk slowly.

Nice try.

You can.

That’s the point:

ya can’t.

Leave the want

to me.

Answer yet?

Usually not.

Too good at this.

Yer cruel.

You love it!

Shower’s runnin’

you sinkin’ the

house?

Trying to bring

the flowers back.

So, yeah.

Makin’ the table,

settin’ it nice. How

ya like it.

How to come home?

On yer own?

Not likely.

Thought’cha knew me.

Touch.

Different to

intimacy.

Right, Professor.

Do remind me

how little I mean.

In the grand scheme

of things?

In the reality of things

in your heart.

Flatline.

Thank God.

Ya don’t mean

that.

Neither do you.

You don’t know.

Not even on

my radar.

Eager to be

done.

Talk like that

and heart attack.

Not like that. Shit.

How?

Over with.

Then get outta

the bathtub.

Like I haven’t

tried. We’re getting

cold now.

FIN

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