“Nobody knows you better than you do”
Until you meet the one person that sees right through you.
— Tell me about you, he asked.
— Why the hell would you wanna know about me, she laughed.
— You intrigue me, he stared her down.
— …
See, the thing with men is that they desire you so long as an aura of mystery seems to emanate from your body. Just like mermaids keeping sailors under their spell, enigmatic women hold some sort of fascination over men. It’s the way you make them feel about themselves that holds them back — a tempting offer to escape their gloomy reality, the charming prospect to fulfill their guilty fantasies. It should always be all a blur, girl. Want to live inside of them forever? Remain as elusive as a whisper…
… a Whisper, that’s what she had ordered.
She lowered her eyes and couldn’t hold back a smile as she put the straw back in her mouth. She sipped her cocktail, slowly, sensually, and looked up. She faked a spike of shyness so well she actually blushed. He stared at her sparkling eyes — you’re getting a little tipsy, girl — was that the Gin or his sexy chin?
— You know, I could write a story about you, she played her dramatic character.
— …
— What happened to you? Something must have happened, he was concerned.
— Too many things, she kept playing.
Imagination — weapon of massive destruction, insidious poison that spreads through your veins, grinds your brains, like a cancer. Creativity––protection against vulnerability. But isn’t that tempting, thrilling, intoxicating? To get a chance to perform better versions of ourselves. To play the leading role in the movie of our life. The problem when you start telling a story is that you need to figure a way out of it. This requires patience, distance, and accepting the unforseeable nature of your characters––they might want to tango without you––independence is just one sentence away.
She felt the need to speed things up––take action before any revelation. She had been told offense was the best defense, but she should have seen he wasn’t one of them. How could she trust he wasn’t an animal?
–– I’m not starved, he got annoyed.
–– I’m not patient, she twist and turned.
–– I have all the time in the world to get to know someone, he said gently.
–– You’re scared, she dared him.
–– Am I? Or are you, kid? She got smoke-screened.
Imagination, wittiness, provocation, those were the things that amused him — those were the things he ended up hating about her. The walls she had built to protect herself collapsed, blowing away her whole world. Now all she’s got left are blank pages and a pen. She can make up all the stories she wants. But will there ever be a happy one?
End of the story. Maybe that’s for the best, honey. It’s easy to lose sight of reality. Next time try out authenticity, before you no longer excite their curiosity — what’s underneath the shell is probably not that ugly.
Note to self: you’ve been warned!
(Based on a true story.)
