She MatteredPosted: May 25, 2015
The divorce was painful. She was his first love and she ended him, ended them, with betrayal.
He did what he always did: Recouped and made a new plan. He studied how to make himself irresistible. He planned the exact words to say, where to place his hands, how to seduce.
And it worked.
The dozens of women he dated were, to him, mice and he was the cat. He played with them and when he tired of them he left their carcasses under a piece of furniture. He didn’t like what that made him, or what he did to them, and now he cringed at the thought. But he craved the attention.
Then he met her.
She was beautiful and smart and funny and…unpredictable. He read people – that’s also what he did – but somehow her mind was elusive. Trying to understand her thoughts was listening to a distant radio station.
At first he played with her, too. Teasing. Sexually loaded conversations. Seducing. It worked, to an extent. But he found himself wanting more from her. He wanted to know her, the real her. She was a Matryoshka doll and each time he opened another piece of her, he found another inside.
Slowly, she revealed herself to him. He was used to unveiling women by mental force, knowing their minds intimately despite their best efforts at concealment. He couldn’t with her. He had to wait. She had to let him in. Show him. It was both maddening and enticing. His every act, every word, could trip a mine. He had never walked this field before.
He fell. Too quickly and too hard, but for real. She called it infatuation. She didn’t see how anyone could. Less quickly, she fell too.
When they were together, it was bliss and joy and laughter and magic.
Over time, he tripped some mines, with predictable results. Eventually, too many.
He wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he did know one truth:
She would always matter.