Hello, Listener (Psychotic Tendencies Duet #1)
Prologue
I stare at you blankly while you sleep on whatever the thread count of these sheets is.
Your blonde hair is spread over your gray pillowcase, perfectly matching our sheets.
Your breasts are hidden under the loose cotton fabric while you lie there, fast asleep on your side of the bed in your post-sex euphoria.
My life with you started like any stereotypical high school archetype.
The rich football player who got good grades because no parent wanted an idiot for a son, and the blonde cheerleader from the well-off family.
Our relationship began as a manipulated picture.
A picture of us hand in hand in expensive tuxedos and silk dresses.
A vision clouded with us walking happily to high school parties–our faces covered in fake plastic smiles.
I thought I loved you then. Your smile, your long blonde hair in loose waves, your tight athletic body.
It was everything I was supposed to like and eventually love one day. My lust for you has always been in full effect. I wish I could say the same for love.
I once looked at you like a prize to be won. A petite, shiny trophy I could put in a large display case. One that was filled with expensive furniture and decor that does nothing but show off our wealth and status, and appeals to your every whim, taunting me with its meaningless use .
Do you see the lackluster of our marriage, or are you still trapped in the fantasy money has put us in? Are your eyes still filled with dollar signs when you’re lying in this large bed with a man you promised your life to?
Mine are long gone, and I’m left with the what-ifs.
What if I had decided not to give in to the same role as my spoiled parents and their circle of rich friends?
What if I had married for love and not for someone who would only look good hanging on my arm as a trophy wife?
What if I had chosen a simpler life? Maybe I would be happy in what may be a smaller house with fewer objects, and I would finally get to do something for myself, not things to please other people.
For once, I would be that simple man rather than a man molded to look good for my family name, with an abundant amount of money in my account, and the expectation to provide for the two of us.
Perhaps you already see it in me. The far-off look and the distant look in my eyes.
Maybe you can tell while I'm on top of you, only to fulfill our ultimate job of adding to the spoiled and rich population. I see you as you put on your best show for me. I know you’re thinking about someone else.
Maybe your tennis instructor, someone you met online or at the country club during the numerous times you insisted on going alone, or maybe he is a fictitious man from your books.
If you want me to be completely honest with you, my dear, it doesn’t matter to me, because all I can think about is her.
This isn’t how it used to be. Our life is just a picture of what you see in shopping catalogs, filled with price tags and gleaming objects. That’s all our marriage is. One big shiny picture.