They sat together now, uncomfortably, their arms around each other.
I don’t know, Mark. I don’t know.
15
Mark tried. He tried talking to her, he tried touching her, he tried doing things for her like buying flowers that would sit hopelessly in a vase on the kitchen table. She wouldn’t even notice them. He tried kissing her, smiling at her, watching TV with her. He tried to take her out for dinner, but she wouldn’t let him, no way, she said, I don’t want to spend money at some stupid restaurant. I’ll pay, he’d say, and she just shook her head, no. You used to like going out to restaurants. Leave me alone, she’d say. She was so thin he was frightened of her.
Miraculously, she stopped cooking for him all the time. At first he was relieved; her behavior had been so fierce. Then she stopped cooking altogether. He’d make himself a sandwich and ask her if she wanted anything and she’d say no. He knew she hadn’t been eating much for a long time. But now she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she didn’t eat at all.
If she wasn’t working then she’d watch TV, her eyes glazed from hunger, her hair brittle around her head, deep blue bags under her eyes. Who was this? He bought her chocolates, he bought her lingerie that would never fit her anymore, he rented her favorite movies. Thick tongued, haggard, half dead, she’d ignore everything, sitting on the couch, a tense corpse, coughing hollowly, chain-smoking cigarettes. The thinner she got the more power she had over him. The smaller she was the more he feared her.
The smell of her changed, the shape of her changed and her face, her energy her everything became more extreme, more out of control. He cared about her still but he had to give up and he knew he did the right thing. For him, anyway. No, for both of them. They had nothing anymore but fear and avoidance. He thought sometimes, drunk, driving home from Nathan’s, a useless half-mast hard-on in his pants from a porn movie, that she had given up something, everything — not just her hardness — her everything the minute he kissed her in his car and it just took him this long to figure it out.
He ran because he was scared because he couldn’t stand her anymore. He walked through the mall where he worked and a petite, dark-haired woman walked by. She wore a nice dress that came down to her ankles and small gold earrings and he knew who she was. She worked in the clothing store next to the computer store where he worked. He saw her almost every day after that. Getting an Orange Julius and a hot dog her thin little feet in flat navy shoes making a wisp-wisp noise as she shimmied back to the store. He looked at her really closely, really looked. She knew he was looking at her and she remained composed. She was cool, never blushing, never fidgeting. He imagined her breasts. Round and small, beneath his hands. Fleshy breasts, the skin moist and bouncy. Not deflated, not dry, not flat and sad. He imagined the girl’s pussy tasting like wet, fresh cut grass. How could he not think of these things?
He knew something true and solid about this girl. This woman who worked at the clothing store, a respectable store, a nice place, would struggle with him always. Would push against his hands with her knees, just enough to make him harder, as he spread her legs apart. She’d protest and her breath would quicken. Her muscles tense. And although he is not a big man, far from it, he is bigger than her and he would feel that way, feel himself truly overpower her. She would never beg for it. She would never give in completely.
He watched this girl for a while. No boy picked her up after work ever. She walked to her dainty Japanese car, a black purse hanging from her slim shoulder, car keys in her hand, and drove off steadily, her seatbelt fastened and the radio turned on at medium volume. She was not taken. But it wasn’t her that was made for him. Someone like her. He’ll leave here, go out West. He’ll start over and get away from it all. And that’s when he’ll find her.
16
What’s wrong with me?
Nothing’s wrong with you.
How come you don’t want to be with me anymore?
It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.
What is it then?
Jesus, Madeleine.
What? What is it. You have to tell me. You have to. You owe me that much.
I don’t know.
Look at me.
I am looking at you.
You look away when you talk.
It just isn’t working out.
Why not? What’s wrong? What don’t you like about me?
It’s not that I don’t like you.
Why do you want to give up?
Madeleine …
I grow my hair because you want me to. I don’t wear red lipstick because you don’t want me to.
It’s not those things.
I am so dedicated to you.
I can’t handle it.
Handle what?
Handle you.
What’s that supposed to mean?
You’re sick.
You’ve made me that way. You don’t give me enough. Of course I’m sick. You don’t call. You’re always out with Nathan.
See. You’re not happy either. We don’t make each other happy.
You don’t try.
I do try.
Try harder.
I tried as hard as I can.
That’s a fucking lie.
No it’s not.
Bullshit. If you cared you’d make this work. If you gave a shit about me, you’d try harder.
I do care about you.
How? How do you care about me? What do you do to care about me?
I love you, Maddy.
It can’t just be a feeling in your head, Mark. You have to act. You have to show me.
I’ve tried Maddy and it hasn’t worked. We deserve better than this. We deserve to be happy.
Why can’t we be happy together?
I don’t know. You’re never happy with me. I’m always doing something wrong. I’m tired of being the bad guy.
Then treat me better.
I did the best I could, it didn’t work.
Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a piece of shit.
Don’t cry, Maddy.
Fuck you. You’re giving up on me.
Don’t cry.
You’re sick of me, that’s it.
I’m not sick of you. I’m tired of failing you.
You’re sick of fucking me.
No.
Yes you are.
I still love being inside of you.
Not enough to make this work.
I can’t handle this.
Fuck me.
No, Maddy. That’s not the answer to our problems.
You can’t fuck me, can you?
We can’t be together just for that.
You can’t get it up for me. You’re sick of my pussy.
Stop it Maddy. Jesus Christ, I won’t put up with this. You wonder why I’m leaving you.
What?
You fucking wonder why we’re not working out. You’re so fucking hostile. That’s what’s wrong with you. You are so angry and so sick.
I’m upset, Mark. I’m sorry. I’m just upset. Please, please. I’ll be easier on you. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me.
I’m not mad at you. I just can’t do this anymore.
Please Mark. I’m hurting. I’m not always like this.
I can’t handle it anymore.
I’m upset. Deal with it. You can’t handle anything. That’s the whole problem. You just run away when things get rough.
It’s not that simple.
It’s not that complicated either, Mark. Either you’re in it or you’re not. Either you make it work or you don’t.
I tried, Maddy. I tried as much as I can and I can’t give you what you need.
I cooked dinner all the time. I bought your favorite beer.
Stop it.
Why after all this time are you leaving me? Why? I’ll be better. You’re killing me.
Listen I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong with you. We don’t belong together.