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Jack and Diane: Part 1
"You're one tough son of a bitch, you know that?" she snatched her purse off the counter, mocking him with her eyes. Dumping its contents in front of her she frantically searched for a stick of chewing gum. "It's times like these I wish I smoked."
He pulled a package of Marlboro Reds from his coat pocket and dangled a cigarette from his mouth, nibbling on the end before striking a light from one of those matchboxes you pick up in restaurants; he was too cheap to buy an actual lighter. Besides, he figured it made him different from all the others. He didn't inhale at first. He liked to hold the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds then swallow it in one gulp; the way it stung at his insides before filling his lungs almost made taking another drag seem ludicrous, but he always went back for more.
He blew a stream of the thick smoke into her face, only because he knew she hated it. Her hand immediately began swatting the air as a look of disgust wrinkled across her forehead. She made a soft coughing noise and took two steps backwards to avoid being a victim of his bad habit.
"Yeah, I was just kidding; you see, I-"
"What are you doing here Diane?" his voice was rough, calloused even, much like his hands. If it had been any other time his bitterness wouldn't have hit her the way it did; she might have even found it sexy, a challenge. A half-dozen memories of them together prodded their way into her self-talks. She fidgeted uneasily as her nerve dwindled away. That was what made going through with all the promises she made to herself so hard; he always found some way to get to her, to confuse the hell out of her until she was confident all her if-he-doesn't-do-this-by-thens seem utterly ridiculous.
"Damn it Jack, I just wanted to talk to you! Sorry to take up too much of your precious time. I gave you a Goddamn year, the least you could do is give me ten minutes." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she tilted her head towards the ceiling, doing the best she could to keep a little dignity.
"You want to know why it didn't work out between us? It's this, right here. You stand there clutching your pride like you'll drown without it. You claim you're some tortured man who no one cares about and everyone forgets; fuck that. You just thought being 'depressed' was some delicacy. Welcome to 2004, baby; everyone's a sarcastic son of a bitch."
He took another drag and she watched the end of his cigarette glow orange. He flung it to the wooden floor carelessly and stamped it out with the toe of his riding boots; he was the perfect cliche of a cowboy with his black Stetson, flashy belt buckle and a five o' clock shadow that showed up early.
He moved at her, backing her into a corner. She raised her hands in protest but he was too quick for her and had them pinned against the wall before she even had time to decide exactly what she was going to do with them.
"No one made you stay. I told you I didn't want you. Quit acting like I did you wrong, princess; you're the one who couldn't live without me, remember?"
"Give it up Jack; you needed me just as much as I needed you." He let go of her wrists and her arms fell limply to her sides. He didn't back away though; he towered over her and stared down into her defiant eyes. How quickly she turned from a little smart-ass with a wicked tongue to a fragile woman. He might have admired her persistence if it didn't infuriate him the way it did. She knew just how to fuel his rage, this little spitfire who had almost gotten to him once; never again.
"When will you stop this? Haven't you had enough?"
"You would think," she spat sardonically, transforming once again into the little bitch that drove him within inches of insanity. "but I wouldn't let you off so easy; seems to me you hate anything remotely close to real intimacy and I pose a threat to your ego-centered world. I'm here to help you suffer."
"Amen to that."
