Sonny is Tim's ex, but you wouldn't necessarily know it. He shows up whenever he wants, walks into Tim's apartment like he owns the place. And he knows how to push Tim's buttons, even if he doesn't realize he's doing it.
Don’t ask me why I did it. Not why I pushed Sonny off the couch—that part I understand. That’s because he’s an insensitive lout who can be totally clueless at times. No, I mean why did I, after heaving him off me as hard as I could, do a complete turnaround and not only help him up but allow him to place his head in my lap, in an utter reversal of our previous position, despite all the alarm bells going off in my own head?
Maybe it was the whimpering. I hate to hear a grown man cry, you know? All right, maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was because deep, deep down inside, I really can’t find it in myself to hurt him, no matter how many times he’s hurt me. I’m just too soft for my own good, and I know it.
“Tim-tim, why are you mad at me?” He’s turning those doe eyes on me, those sweetly sad puppy eyes that make my insides turn into meaningless goo. Like caramel, but less tasty.
“Sonny, when will you get it into your thick head I’m not in love with you anymore? We aren’t together, and it’s time you moved on? Read my lips, Sonny. I… don’t… love… you…. Capisce?”
For a moment, nothing is said between us, as if he’s actually mulling over my words.
“I’ve told you this before,” I add. My voice sounds weak, even to me.
“Tim,” he says at last, his momentary deliberations at an end. “It’s funny how your eyes always look away when you say that.”
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