Talking to Yourself...

Lucy talking to the physical representation of the woman in her head. #28 of my 100 things - Sorrow.

 

 

Talking to yourself is one thing, but being in bed and having a meaningful conversation with yourself is entirely another, and a commonplace occurance for Lucy. The blonde lay in bed with the similar looking brunette curled up next to her, her head on Lucy’s shoulder.

 

“It can’t have gone too well if you’re home this early,” she was saying softly, fishing for information on the younger woman’s date none too subtlety. Physically, she only looked a few years older than Lucy, but mentally?

 

“Dinner was fine.” Lucy replied, bored. “Except when he had to excuse himself to go get himself off in the bathroom in the middle of dinner. Maybe it was the dress…?” She paused, frowning. “Oh… Went back to his place, coffee was fine… for the thirty seconds it lasted after his clothes came off, the sex was fine. He unknowingly paid for my taxi home… Uhh, I think that’s it. Can I sleep now?” She sighed.

 

“No!” The woman responded, moving to look up at her. “You’ve not been yourself lately, and believe me, if anyone knows when you’re not being you, it’s me. You’ve now been the same since the two of you… well, split up. I don’t think you’ve noticed just how miserable and impossible to please you’ve become. Nothing’s good enough anymore Lucy, and nothing holds your attention like he used to. Nothing’s catching your eye anymore.” She moved to the side of the bed, throwing the phone at Lucy. “Call him.”

 

“No way am I calling him!”

 

“Call him or I will!” The woman insisted. It didn’t click at first what Lucy was doing when she stood, seemingly pressing buttons, until the phone went out through the open window.

 

“I said no.” She shrugged, her voice quiet and defeated. “I just… I want to be alone now, okay? Go please.”

 

The other woman nodded. “Fine. You know where I am if you need me.”

 

“I wont.” Lucy whispered as she laid back on the bed, hugging one of her pillows tight. At least this way, she wouldn’t see herself as weak without him. She wouldn’t see just how much she felt lost without him, the girl who never needed anyone. She wouldn’t see herself cry, and she’d change the sheets before she got back. No tell-tale mascara patches, no panda eyes, and of course… No Gene.

 

 

Lucy Fortress