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~~~~Like Shards of Glass Excerpt ~~~
The love, whatever they felt, was fragmented from the beginning; in this scene, it all comes to the surface. The hatred, the naivete, the denial, the co-dependence; it’s all around them.
“Oh, what, Dominique? What? Depressed? Did you realize she’s old, and she probably didn’t want to live here, in this dead-end ass world, anymore?”
Reaching down to put on his coat, Dominique shrugged. “Forget it.”
“No.” Looking back at him, rising to my feet, I pointed up at him. “For a while now you been hinting at wanting to talk. At not being okay. I try to look at you and imagine – and it just pisses me off. You acting like things are so bad for you. I hate when you act like your life is just so bad. So weak!”
“You say a lot, lately. Complain a lot, I mean. And you sleep even more. It’s just too much.” Staring up at him, my chest was lighter from telling him what I thought; my heart was heavy as he raised his head to look into my eyes.
“Me?” he said.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I just wanted –”
“To be heard. Babied. What!”
“Heard? Isn’t that what people do when they care? Listen to each other? No?” He ran his hands over his face. “You don’t give. You just take, and you –”
“Go home, Dominique. Stiff your mother on bills. Judge your friends. Get high. Quit your job every other week. Skip funerals because it’s too much. Death is too much. Being a man is too much. Go use a messed up, desperate older woman, for all you can get out of her, and –”
“No! And Dominique, when she’s at the bottom of her rope, you tell her what she’s not doing for you! How worthless she is! God knows one foot’s already six feet under, now you bury her! Go on! Throw more dirt! Bury me!”
(…) He stared at me, stepped toward me, then backed away. His hands trembled at his sides. Whatever he felt, whatever I felt, our hatred toward what we’d become – all of it was at war – plain in the open.