Save your flattery for someone else. I deserve none of your kind words. I’ve done nothing to deserve your praise. I’ve no talent nor gift nor skill. I write words aimlessly, hoping to exploit an untapped emotion deep within you. I’m a predator circling the skies above, waiting for the spoils to unfold. Undeserving at best, manipulative at worst.

I want to give you something. A special gift I don’t share often. It’s very fragile and easily broken. But I’m giving it to you because you’ve become someone very special in my life. Someone I can lean on, someone I can trust, someone I feel at home with. So please take this gift with the passion and love with which it’s given. Please be careful with my heart.

She loved him with a burning passion. He adored her like she was his moon, circling him and visiting him every night. He tended to her every need. He showered her with affection and attention.

She hated him with a burning passion. He had played on her sympathies, used her for his selfish needs and left, destroying her.

Love is a crazy game. Emotions change with lightning speed. Actions, once sweet and unquestioned become sinister and suspicious. She danced on the border between love and hate.

She loved him and he loved her, but it wasn’t that simple. It never was. She was the wrong girl for him. She didn’t grow up in the right neighborhood, hadn’t gone to the right schools, didn’t have the connections to get where she was. Although she had put herself through state college, fought for internships, worked overtime, twelve to fourteen hour days to become the successful woman she was, it wasn’t enough. She had fallen in love with her handsome, silver spoon, ivy league colleague. Their courtship was idyllic. He was romantic, thoughtful, well-mannered, but he had a bad-boy streak that appealed to her. And he didn’t care about status. The neighborhoods, the schools, the connections – none of that mattered to him. It wasn’t until he had taken her to his parent’s home in the Hamptons for a long weekend, being around his peers, his friends, his people, that she realized no matter how hard she tried to bridge this gap, no matter how much he didn’t care about status, she would never belong in his world. She loved him and he loved her, but it wasn’t that simple.

My life is changing. Every day is new. I realize this is a part of life. But I don’t like it. Friends once close move on to new interests or different obligations and I find they are no longer a part of my life. It seems as if I haven’t changed, only those around me. But I have, maybe in subtle, barely noticeable ways. And to my friends maybe I seem to have moved on to new interests or different obligations. That’s life.

Inching closer to the precipice I peeked over the edge of the cliff to the swirling waters below. Waterfalls are beautiful until you’re standing at the top looking down and gauging the depth of the pool beneath you. He stood behind me egging me on, daring me to defy my logical, calculating mind and just jump. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and made a leap of faith, my heart lurching as I free fell. I opened my eyes briefly to aim then shut them tightly as I drew my knees in to my stomach and plunged into the cold water, hoping for the best. I was suspended in the frigid pool and floated freely for a few moments before surfacing for air. Pushing the water off my face, my laughter echoed through the cavern and for the first time in months I felt free.

He had been hurt before. And so he had put up walls around himself, invisible walls that shielded him from pain and grief and suffering and heartache. He had numbed himself to the world but in doing so he had deprived himself of the joys and pleasures of life, because all of these emotions become intertwined to provide the fabric of our lives. She needed a breakthrough that would tear down his walls and open his heart to the world, to her, because she loved him and she needed him and she knew he needed her.

Standing in the doorway, he watched as she removed her jewelry, carefully putting each piece away. She hadn’t noticed him watching her yet, this was his favorite part. When she was completely unaware and lost in thought, oblivious to his presence. She removed her heels and disappeared into the closet. He waited patiently for her, hoping she wouldn’t see him. He wasn’t ready to stop watching her yet. Then her voice rang out like a melody, “John”, as she emerged from the closet, three inches shorter. She finally noticed him in the doorway and smiled at him. “There you are. Help me with my zipper?” It was both a question and a statement as she turned away from him.

He pushed his shoulder away from the door frame and slowly made his way across the room, drinking in the sight of her curvy backside, accentuated by the deep blue satin cocktail dress clinging to every inch of her. His eyes roamed up from her rounded ass to the V shape of the back of her dress that exposed the milky whiteness. He could already feel her smooth, soft skin in his mind. When he reached her, his hands went to her shoulders and his fingers trailed down along the edge of the fabric, the silky satin and smooth skin melting together. His lips moved to her shoulders and he planted soft kisses along her graceful, swan-like neck, relishing the cooing sounds she made. Before unzipping her dress, his hands snaked around her hips to her swollen belly, rubbing and caressing it as he whispered in her ear, “there is nothing sexier than the beautiful woman carrying my child.”

She loved him with a burning passion she had never felt for anyone before. She put her trust in him and she adored him completely. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. He knew this and took advantage of it. The late nights and the frequent parties. The fights he picked merely to assess her devotion to him. Responding to women who flirted with him. Fits of rage and jealousy if a man showed any interest in her. One day he pushed her to the breaking point to see how much she loved him. She realized then that she would forever be a slave to his ego. She thought her world would stop turning and she would stop breathing, but she walked out the door without ever looking back. He had put her through a test and he was the one who had failed.

She woke at 5 am and went for her morning run. Came home, showered and dressed. Woke the children and got them started on their morning routine. Fresh, healthy lunches for the children and husband were packed and sitting on the pristine countertop. Coffee and bagel at the breakfast bar while watching Good Morning America. Kiss for the husband before he left for work and corralling the children into the car for the ride to school. At the drop off circle she was reminded of the bake sale on Thursday, no home baked goods to avoid food allergies. She called her mother on the way to work then, luckily just as she was about to be lectured, she arrived at the parking lot and had to hang up. Her neatly organized desk had her daily schedule prepared by her assistant. She went about her day, efficient, shrewd, competent. After work she picked the children up from their after-school program and listened patiently and attentively as they described their day. At home she got them started on their homework then started dinner, the ingredients already prepared this morning. When her husband came home she listened to him as he complained about his day at work, not once mentioning her day. And he never asked. After dinner the children played and her husband watched a game on TV while she cleaned the kitchen and prepared for the next day. Then she began the bedtime routine, the children bathed and brushed their teeth, she did the same. She then moved from room to room in the house tidying and straightening until it was clean. By the time she made it to bed her husband had fallen asleep. She sighed as she slipped in between the sheets and turned the lamp off, wondering how much longer she could keep this up façade.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.” She threw her coat on the sofa and walked to the cabinet for a wine glass. It was the third time this week their drive home had ended up in an argument. She was beginning to think he was intentionally starting these little fights. She poured the Malbec very close to the top of the glass and took a long sip.

“I’m just saying your friends can be a bit melodramatic.” He poured himself a glass of bourbon, neat and sat on the sofa, pushing her coat aside.

She frowned at him and hung her coat in the closet. “And you can be a little pompous. You’ve never complained about my friends before.” She took the arm chair adjacent to the sofa.

“Maybe I’ve merely kept my opinions to myself to avoid arguments.” He was calm and placid, as if they were talking about the weather. It made her blood boil but she wouldn’t show it.

“Perhaps you should stay home when my friends have dinner parties.” The conversation was taking a more serious tone and she wasn’t sure if she liked the direction it was going.

“That might be a good alternative. It would be better than hearing them prattle on about the trivial subjects they always choose.” Now he was just baiting her.

“I think we should take a break.” It was a bold statement. She could hardly believe she’d had the nerve to say it. And from the open mouthed stare he gave her, he couldn’t believe it either.

“That escalated pretty quickly.”

“Let’s face it, we’ve been fighting all week over trivial things. Soon it will be more serious things then it will get ugly. If we stop now we can avoid the unpleasantries.” She felt a sense of relief as the words tumbled from her mouth.

“Fine, if that’s what you think is best. I think you’re making a huge mistake, but I can’t control your actions.” He stood to leave, crossing the room to the front door where he turned to face her one last time. “When you see how wrong you are don’t come begging for me to take you back.”

As he walked out she took a sip of wine and thought to herself “And he thinks my friends are melodramatic.”

The doorbell rang and Jennifer called out to her son “Answer the door please, I’m up to my elbows in dish soap.” She heard him groan, as he had to abandon his video game, and say something under his breath, some expletives if she had to guess. But he was a teenaged boy and even though she had taught him as best she could, she knew she couldn’t control everything. Being a single mother of a boy wasn’t an easy job. Sometimes she hated her ex-boyfriend for abandoning them. But mostly she tried to ignore him and just live her life.

“Mom, there’s someone at the door for you.” She rolled her eyes. She had deduced that much since Ian wasn’t expecting friends. Sighing she rinsed her hands and dried them with a dish cloth while walking to the front door. A short walk in their small home. When she saw her ex-boyfriend standing in the doorway she nearly fainted. “Mark. What are you doing here?”

Hearing his father’s name, Ian looked up from the television screen. “Is he my father?” The words dripped with contempt and the look on Ian’s face burned with a hatred Jennifer had rarely seen. After fifteen years she never believed this day would come. And now, with no warning, Mark had shown up on her doorstep, unannounced and unwelcomed. And she had no plan. Still, there was unfinished business, if not with her and Mark at least with Ian and Mark.

“Mark, come inside.” She closed the door as her mind raced trying to think of what to say. She had told Ian about his father. In the beginning there were photographs, but as Ian grew old enough to understand the situation, he insisted she take them down. He wanted nothing to do with Mark. A few years earlier Mark began to send birthday cards and Ian responded by burning them without opening them.

Jennifer suddenly wanted a glass of wine. A very large glass of wine. Instead she led Mark to the sofa where Ian continued his game, ignoring the two adults. “Ian honey, you need to quit your game so we can talk.”

“I have nothing to say to him.” Ian’s lips were drawn tight and his eyes never left the screen.

Jennifer took the controller from him, playing a tug-of-war before he finally relented. “Ian, this is your father, Mark. We’ve talked about him before. Why don’t we let Mark tell us why he’s here?” Jennifer was proud that she put the accountability on Mark.

Mark looked down at the floor, avoiding eye contact. “Ian, I left your mom when she needed me the most. And I left you. I let you both down. For years I’ve been avoiding this, avoiding you both, because I couldn’t handle the responsibility.” Mark finally looked up and directly at Ian. “Because I couldn’t handle being a father. I thought you would be better off without me. Then I started sending you birthday cards but you never called. So I decided I would come see you in person to tell you I’m sorry I let you down. Both of you.”

Ian’s eyes were moist with tears, which he tried valiantly to fight back. Mark continued. “I don’t expect you to let me into your life. I just wanted you to know that not a day has gone by that I didn’t think of you, son.” There was a pregnant pause and Mark nodded his head in defeat. He rose to leave. “Thank you both for listening to me. Jennifer, it looks like you’ve done a wonderful job raising Ian. I’m sorry I made you do that alone.” He walked to the door with his shoulders slumped when Ian’s voice came out in a squeak, “Wait.” Mark stopped and turned. “I mean, mom made a whole apple pie for dessert and there’s no way we can eat it all. Do you like apple pie?”

You could see her dilemma. She couldn’t tell him the truth and she couldn’t lie to him. The truth would surely destroy him and his faith in her, ultimately destroying them. She didn’t think she was ready for a life without him. But a lie would eat away at her like a cancer, destroying her conscience until she was ready to beg for absolution for a sin he didn’t know she had committed. So you could see her dilemma. Did she choose the fast, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching loss or the slow, torturous, guilt-ridden loss?

I followed you today, from our old apartment on 78^th Street. You stopped at the deli for coffee; black, no sugar, and a chocolate croissant. Your favorite breakfast after our trip to Paris when I insisted that you try mine and you ate the entire thing. But you bought me two more to make up for it. You were always generous and thoughtful that way.

You left the deli and turned right and I instinctively knew you would end up at the park, sitting on our bench, the one where we watched the world rush by while we took our time drinking in the beauty of life. I followed at a safe distance, but close enough to drink in your muscular frame, toned from daily runs, your dark hair that curled slightly at the ends and, when you turned to look at the people around you, your strong jawline, angled nose and dark, thick lashes which were the envy of every woman you met.

At the entrance to the park you stopped and smoothed your hair, pulled your shirt straighter, which I thought was odd. When you started walking again my eyes went to the bench and I saw a woman sitting there, holding a coffee, watching you. My stomach lurched. She was average looking. Dark blonde hair in a chin length bob, basic brown eyes, nondescript face. A cliché really. I think that might have made it even more painful. That you didn’t find someone fantastically beautiful to replace me. You pulled out your chocolate croissant to share with her. Then you both sat and watched the world rush by while I watched you. It was a perfect contrast in contradiction.

I scanned the hallway as I put my key in the lock and turned the knob, letting myself into my empty apartment. The darkness took me by surprise and my heart rate increased. I always left a light on so it wouldn’t be so dark when I came home late. Maybe a light bulb had just burned out. I went to turn on the nearest light switch, feeling along the wall, when the reading lamp next to my favorite chair suddenly switched on, illuminating the profile of my ex-boyfriend. I jumped and took a sharp intake of breath. My whole body began to shake. “How did you get in?”

“You know I’ve never had any trouble getting what I want when I’m motivated.” His deep voice sent chills up my spine. Suddenly I was the frightened girl in the corner, hands covering her face in self-defense. The girl wearing long sleeves in the summer to hide the bruises. The girl ready with an excuse for anything. I remembered all the terror he had put me through. I froze in place unsure of what to expect next. His voice rose without him moving. “Be a good girl and pour me another drink. We might be a while love.” He lifted the glass in his hand and I could see he had already started drinking, another sign that things might not go my way tonight. My mind frantically raced through my options while my body seemed calm, crossing the room to retrieve his glass, a slight smile of acknowledgment to appease him.

I refilled his glass with whiskey, unsure of why I still kept his favorite brand in my cabinet. My hand shook and I spilled some on the dark wood counter. I stared at the pooled liquid and remembered the previous times I had spilled liquor, the punishment sure to come later for the few precious drops of nectar I had cost him. Unconsciously I wiped the spilled liquor with the sleeve of my sweater then took the drink to him. I began to plan my escape route.

I sat on the sofa across from him as he drank the whiskey, only halfway listening to him prattle on about how we were meant to be together. The fact that he was so calm, so impassive, worked in my favor. “I have to admit love, you definitely stumped me when you left. I thought I had lost you for good. But you just threw me off the trail. You’ll never lose me. Understand, love?” His blue eyes pierced through me and I felt them all the way to my soul. I whimpered and nodded because at that moment I knew I would never escape him.

Daily Prompt – Stylish

I wouldn’t know stylish if it bit me on the ass. As much as I drool over fashion magazines and dream of runway models’ closets, my wardrobe largely consists of yoga pants, t-shirts and jeans. My fancy clothes are slacks, blouses and heels, overdressed three times a week at my part-time job.

When I go to bed and close my eyes I dream I’m a fabulously successful actress at the Oscars, dressed in a couture gown and Christian Louboutins; or a high-powered anything, dressed in a custom-tailored business suit from Milan and Manolo Blahniks. In truth, I stumble in anything with a heel less than two inches high.

I’m a simple girl meant for ponytails and sneakers. But I can dream of French twists and stilettos.