Let Them Eat Regret

There is nothing worse than this.

When I wake, Sleeves is breathing softly beside me, her arm on my hip, her forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. I recognize this. She is either just out of a long relationship or still in one. I try not to move. I don't want to wake her. I can't look at her.

I'm imagining myself shaking her, telling her to leave, my eyes averted, red and wandering. She's breathing, content, her troubles still asleep, her troubles, whatever they may be, nothing next to mine.

I can't stand her touching me any longer and I'm going to start shuddering soon if I don't move. My pillow is uncomfortably wet.

I stand slowly, wiping at my eyes, my cheeks, before turning to see if I've woken her. The sheet had piled up between us, and her naked breasts are beautiful, motherly. The curve of her hip is timeless, and her hair is spilling off of the edge of the pillow in perfect geometric patterns.

Women are always more beautiful when I'm crying, but I still want to shake her. After these tears stop hitting the sheet. Goddamnit. Fuck tears. Fuck crying. Fuck being a piece of shit.

A phone is ringing somewhere, softly, getting louder quickly. Her eyes open and begin to focus on me. I'm stunned and angry. I turn away and grab for my jeans.

"Hi, honey... Yeah, I'm fine. I slept at Dora's..."

At the edge of my mind, there are red and gold drapes, and through them there's a large balcony. I'm standing on this balcony, addressing my subjects, my minions, my adoring fans.

The good news is she slept at Dora's, I'm saying. The good news is she didn't fuck a complete stranger last night.

"Hardly! You know how she is. You have two beers, and she takes your keys... Yeah, I'll be home in half an hour... I love you too."

She dresses quickly. I'm hiding in the bathroom. After a few moments, I haven't heard anything from the bedroom in a while, and I decide she must have left.

She's standing beside the bed, her phone on the sheet, hugging herself. She looks up, tears perfecting her, and for one instant the look in her eyes says, "Why did you do this to me?" Then it's gone and she's grabbing her phone.

I call Quinn and tell her that a young woman will be coming downstairs needing a ride to her car.

On the balcony, I'm leaning way over the rail, a great broad grin plastered on my face, and I'm shouting to the masses.

Let them eat guilt, I'm shouting. Let them eat regret.