“Where did you go?”
“I felt the need to paint, I didn’t want to wake you. What did you want to share with me?”
“I wrote a poem.” Rhetoric joined me on the bed, sitting to my left. “Every other line is yours.”
“It’s not love but if only to have a word, title, or phrase to call it,” I began.
“Mouths touch as though a magnet lay between our lips.”
“It’s not love.” I said.
“But it would be nice.”
“If it had a name to call it,” I answered.
We finished the poem and remained silent for a little while.
“This,” Rhetoric pointed to my cursive writing. “This is passion. You put everything in these words.” He smiled lightly and dug into his bag, producing a bottle.
“I’ll get you a flask one day.”
“That’s for trendy alcoholics. Real drunks take it straight to the head.” He took a swig and put the bottle back into his bag. Rhetoric kissed me on the temple and got up walking towards the front door.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I wanna get back to the studio and gesso another canvas before they close for the day.” I got up and followed him to the door.
“Thanks for coming back.”
“I never left.” We shared another kiss and I watched him disappear down the hall.
My phone began to ring and I looked to see yet another call from Craig. I ignored it and spent the next hours cooking dinner, reading for class, and watching TV. Around 12 midnight I received another call from Craig and decided to answer it.
“You don’t answer your phone now?” he yelled.
“I wanted time to myself Craig. We are not together anymore.”
“I need to talk to you, can I come over?” He sounded anxious and I could tell he had been drinking.
“No. If you want to talk, we’ll do it in the morning.”
“Is somebody over there?” His voice sounded stressed and I heard men yelling in the background.
“Nobody is here.”
“Then I’ll come by.”
“Look, we’ll go for pancakes in the morning and talk. I’m tired. Talk to you tomorrow.” I hung up and got dressed for bed. Thirty minutes later there was a knock at my door. I looked out the peep hole to see Craig. I began to unlock the door.
“I told you we’ll talk in the morning,” I began to open the door and Craig barreled inside slamming the door into my face. I fell backward hitting my head on the cold tile.
“Where is he?” Craig screams kicking my sides, his insecurities about my relationship with Rhetoric making him rage.
Part 3, Section 1 of “A Rhetorical Question” will be published right tomorrow – you can’t miss it!