fridgemagnet

The thing I liked about Liz was that she knew I was a fraud but never said it. The distance between who you are and who you want to be can be measured in all the affects and calculated mannerisms that you talk yourself into. Over time they require no effort. It's like muscle memory for weak egos. She had this weird ability to see through the bullshit that most people didn't, and a rare restraint for not feeling the need to call me out. I liked her for it.

Our relationship was a completely honest lie. A perpetual, silently acknowledged stiff arm of the truth.

While I was thinking about this, conscious of the steam rising around us, she said

"If you do this, everything changes. Everything in your life."

I tilted my head towards the water, and looked at her from the corner of my eyes,

"Yeah, I know. I've realized that. It's kind of the point." I shot for an insouciant tone and was pleased with the results.

"I don't know if I'm on board," she said "you might be on your own on this."

It wasn't unexpected but it hurt anyway.

I was tired, I had made up my mind, and it occurred to me that her not being on board would probably be for the best. Lonelier, but for the best.

I was done talking. I wanted to go to bed. I thought about trying to seduce her, I figured my odds were better than 50/50. But I didn't feel like putting out the effort.

I went back to my room. Fished a beer out of the fridge. Masturbated, and fell asleep.