When you come back to me you’ll probably offer me a drink again. But I’ll refuse because to accept, to let you nourish me is dependence and that’s not where I want to be in this relationship. But you’ll keep trying because it’s a good delaying tactic.
Whilst you’re gone, I think about taking off my coat because I can feel my cheeks flushing but I decide not to because it would show that I’m willing to stay. I want you to think that I can go at any moment. I think about whether I should let you see what I’ve got rolled up in my hand, information I have gathered, but you probably already have and I don’t suppose I would be the first one to have tried that.
The chrome arms of the chair are getting hot under my palms and slipping from my grip as I wait for your return and I wonder if my exposed forehead is shining under the lights. I wish I’d dressed smarter or more casually rather than just a nothingness that leaves no impression at all.
I want to know just what you’ll get out of all this, how you will sleep at night with the knowledge that you’ve squeezed every last drop of blood out of me. That’s what the coffee’s all about; if I accept, the blood will run more freely. If it was the other way around, I would be happy to leave you with nothing but I’m too weak to do what you do. You pretend to be weak, pretend to be incapable of making any decisions that really matter. That’s why you keep leaving me.
I can’t go on. I need to know what the real price is. Why is it so difficult buying a new car?