The Vase

The vase, a gift he picked up from Second Street Seconds, contained a handful of red roses. On the kitchen table next to the vase were a pile of mail and a dirty plate and fork.

He slammed a bottle of Corona onto the table, grabbed his third from the six pack and twisted it open. “You don’t appreciate anything I do for you,” he said. You didn’t even thank me for the roses.”

Flip..flip…flip. She sat on the couch flipping through a magazine.

“We should at least talk about it.” he said.

“Didn’t we talk about it the last two times? I remember talking about it. But then maybe it was just a lot of words.” She threw the magazine on the floor and picked up another.

“I’ve done a lot for you, you know.”

“Yes, you sure have. Let me think here. What have you done?” She turned a page, looked vacantly at the corner of the room. “Doctor, when did I start going to see her?  Has it been five months now?  Credit cards maxed out. Can’t forget that. Oh, and that time you borrowed my car. Amazing how my windshield cracked like that. And you had no idea how it happened. Wasn’t that about the time the knuckles on your right hand swole up?”

“I had nothing to do with that shit and you know it. I can’t help it if you’re crazy and can’t handle your money.” He took a slam of Corona. “Without me you are nothing you know.”

Flip…flip…flip.

“You’re just a dumb stupid bitch and a shitty girlfriend anyway.” He swatted the pile of male across the floor.

Flip…flip…flip.

“I’m going to leave and I won’t come back. I swear. You’ll be sorry for treating me like this.” he said.

“Do what is best for you.”

His eyes filled with tears. He slouched forward. “I love you.”

The flipping pages slowed.

“Please can’t we talk about it? Please?” he asked. Tears flowed. “I got no where to go.”

She flattened a page of the magazine with her left hand. “Well, I hope you find something.”

The tears stopped. He stood. The bottle of Corona shattered against the refrigerator door. She froze, coiled into herself. “You bitch! You are going to end up alone. You don’t have any friends. All you have is me. I hope you enjoy your pathetic lonely life after I’m gone. I know you will be calling me. I can feel it. You’ll want me back. They always do.”  The door to apartment 402 shut with a click. She was alone.

She dropped her magazine and stared unblinking for several minutes. She took in a deep breath, rose, walked to the door, threw the deadbolt and slipped on the chain lock. Next, she walked to the kitchen table and grabbed the vase with her hand. She walked onto the balcony, extended her hand over the railing and released her grip.

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