I saw, in her sock drawer, a picture of her fishing. She had a turtle on the line. She was laughing in glee. Bare arms. Warm weather clothes. Smell of sweat lurking under the perfume, and a sprig of the eau de baby powder.
How I wanted to die, then.
How I felt harmed, hurt, with my mind bleeding within, the cranial pressure building, my memories fogging away, body parts beginning to convulse!
I said I loved her.
I said I loved her not.
I played with her "back massager" when she wasn't looking. One of her kids came to the door and I threw the huge pink apparatus in disgust, as if it had been attacking me.
While she showered, I tried on her reading glasses. "Look, I'm an idiot, now" I said softly. Then I shuddered with revulsion.
I didn't change underwear or socks all weekend. For luck. My lucky "get ass" gear, ye ken?