(A short story)
“I’m fighting this”
she said, and let her eyes fill
“I’m fighting what he said and didn’t say”
the tears fell onto the phone receiver
“It’s ok to cry, because I need to”
she tried to breathe
“everything he made me see, it was – “
steeling herself, she blinked away
“bullshit. He’s a fucking coward. And I am not. I may not be stronger than this right now, but I will fight, and become so. He will not defeat me. He can live his half a life, marry a nice Christian girl, and never, ever feel so much passion again. I will not live like that. I will have it all, be who I am and learn to believe that I deserve to succeed, get my own house, solar panels, travel to far off places and come home to a house full of books, love someone who attributes me a worth, but above all, I will have passion. Passion that right now, is in this, the fight.”
“That’s cool”
said the friend.
Who was there, which helped.
“Thank you” she said
she didn’t feel better, (or rather less hurt). But she was still there, which was a start.
I was wainting for the punch line, like ‘at the third stroke it will be three thirty pee em.’
But it wasn’t there.
you’re mean
She said that for over an hour, then I hung up.
:)