Fiction Friday 5 July 2013
It’s Not Me
Let me start off by saying,
it’s not me, it’s you. It’s me, not you.
I’ve given this a lot of thought.
Every time I pour vodka into my giant Dr. Pepper from the Drive Through on the way home from work, I think of you. Every time I spit my meds out near the bush by the front door, I think of you. Every time I go to the corner and use the Keno machine to win enough money to buy another bottle, I think of you.
Every time I get away with it, I think of you. I resent you but even more, I have lost all respect for you. I can hardly look at you.
How can I? I mean you are so easy to pull one over on. You even believe I’m sick and call my boss for me.
And did I tell you my boss is stupider than you? Well, almost. I told him last week my mother died. He loaned me money. I haven’t been to work at all this week.
I just can’t take it anymore. I want out of this sick relationship. I need something more.
I’m sorry things turned out this way. After all, it wasn’t you, it was me.
If you must know, I was trying to kill you.
Seriously! How long can one middle aged, overweight, lying, drinking idiot manage to stay alive?
I kept thinking you were one drink away from slipping in the shower. One Rancher Burger away from a heart attack. One lie away from insanity.
I knew about all of it. Any fool knows her man isn’t worth the clothing he wears. Any fool living in a small town like this is bound to hear about her man plunking quarters in the machines. Any idiot knows to look away and bide her time.
My only regret. I didn’t get to see you fall.
Keep the house. I packed what I needed. And don’t forget to feed the cats.