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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