The middle.

[Pennyroyal Tea]

A story I wrote. I didn't edit it, and I won't bother. Take it for what it is. Or don't be bothered.

The Middle
It was a normal day in everything but the fact that Daisy was anxiously pacing back and forth in anticipation of a conversation that she had mixed feelings about. She was just as surprised about the news as he will no doubt be, and had not yet decided what to think about it. She breathless broke down the scene in her head. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time as it was something no doubt brought on by stress. Stress she heard was a cause, and something she had a lot of lately. She was a writer constantly pressed by deadlines and word counts and the amount of time.
Well she was a writer, in that she used to be. The work she did now, streamlining instruction manuals to make them easier to read. Re-writing prescription labels to make them easier to understand that sort of thing. While it gave her money and ate up free time which she had too much of, it was brainless, almost an insult to the profession she so passionately explored in her younger days. The demands of her job, which allowed her to work out of her home, something her husband Paul had been insistent on. He wanted to take care of her, he didn’t want her doing work. She smiled to herself. He doesn’t know about her side job. She thought of this a sort of homage to her former life, her teenage years long since passed where she was a rebellious brat. She was always conscious of this fact, but it was a role she proudly filled.

Actually technically in the lawful sense of the term Paul wasn’t her husband. They considered themselves married, but they hated the institution that marriage was. Both of their parents were divorced, and they both had suffered because of it. They didn’t want to become their parents. So they both agreed that they would remove the pressure of marriage. Thinking of Paul made her smile and took the edge off of her current situation. Paul was always sure of himself; he would know what to do about their situation. She didn’t listen to anyone. But somehow it was different with Paul. He always seemed so sure of himself, so confident almost to the point of being arrogant. It was cute and kinda assuring in a way that she would never admit to herself. She was just as insecure as any other woman, but she always hid it.

She had gotten used to hiding her feelings. She still remembered the day she found out her parents were getting divorced. They were fighting much more than usual. Any time they were about to have a bad fight, they always told her to go out to the patio. It was a habit well practiced, and pretty soon even at the young age of five years old she was able to decipher just when it was about to start and escape out into the patio. She would quickly grab a few of her favorite dolls and coloring books and play with her imaginary friend. She had been spending more and more time out on the patio, she still remembered it’s every detailed even though they sold the home years ago. The walls were walled with cheap wood. What was the name of that called again? Ah she’ll look it up later. The carpet was one bought at a discount superstore. It was of the same material often found in offices. It wasn’t thickly padded so not only could you feel the hard concrete floor underneath, often times during winter you often felt its chill. The room was furnished with a brown couch, aged and covered with vinyl that was beginning to peel and tear. There was also a table, a lamp and some art covering the walls. It was during one of the times spent in this room that she was told of her parents’ divorce. She still remembers the soft way they spoke to her coming into the room one at a time. They tried to explain the situation as best as they imagined a five year old could handle. That was also something they disagreed on, so they each explained it in their own way. It did more to confuse the hell out of her than anything. She remembers how she immediately knew something was wrong. They each spoke to her in that voice that they only used when something was wrong. They each assured her that her life wouldn’t change much. But even then at that age she could tell they were lying.

Daisy shook off this unpleasant memory and in danced another one…well she hadn’t decided whether it would be unpleasant or not either. That would depend on Paul. She let herself breathe out again and checked her watch nervously. He was late. He was coming home late again. They had talked about it before, even almost argued. He changed, but a few months later he was back to his habit of staying late. Paul…oh Paul…he was a different man now then when she met him.

She still remembers his hair spiked arrogantly in the style prevalent of the day. His clothes were his uniform screaming out in that punky angsty fashion that drove her wild. They had met in her teens at a concert. He wasn’t the first person you’d notice at one of these, and he was hardly the first person she’d hooked up with. He wasn’t very attractive. But wasn’t terribly ugly either. However there was something that attractive about him. It was in the way he carried himself when he hit on her. At least that’s what she thinks he was doing. She barely heard anything he said but they exchanged numbers. He called first. She liked that. The confident tone in his voice was different than the other boys she knew. She fell in like instantly, they agreed to meet the next day.

She wasn’t a romantic she didn’t much care for waiting to be married or finding the one. Growing up with her parents had taught her as a child that there’s no such thing and it’s better to ride ‘em while you got em. They didn’t wait to screw. Daisy didn’t delude herself by calling something so ugly making love. If such a thing as love existed it wouldn’t be shown in such an ugly sweaty way. Not that the feeling wasn’t beautiful. As for the actual screwing, it wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t the best she ever had either, though for some reason she found herself enjoying it with him more.

To her, though she often enjoyed the feeling of it. Coitus was always awkward, she often thought during about what will happen after so much so that she couldn’t get into it. Afterwards it was always an awkward scramble for clothes and “I’ll see you tomorrow sometime” If they ever even bothered undressing her. But it was different sometime. He held her afterwards, grabbing her as she went to grab her clothes. He held her, and she felt a sort of softness about him that wasn’t there before. She felt the warmth of his body and the heat of his breath on her neck. They didn’t bother talking. Nothing you say in those situations is ever significant. They both just enjoyed the moment.

Later on they would go to raves together, him bringing a sort of wild side out of her. They weren’t the type to wear their heart on their sleeves. Outside he was a rebel without limits, even before it was popular.
These memories brought a tear to her eyes. This was a long time ago, before punk was commercialized. Before rebel was a label you were only to sell records or movies or to be popular. Before everything became a gimmick. When attitude meant the cops kept an eye on you but you didn’t give a [censored]. You voiced your displeasure openly. She remembers her first protest. The town had passed a curfew making it illegal for people under 19 to be outside on the streets after ten p.m. This was of many different protests she orchestrated and followed. She was against almost every addition to the school dress code limiting dress. To stop this she got everyone to just stop showing up. It got her in tons of trouble but she didn’t care. In an effort to win her over her parents never disciplined her.

She smiled. They’ll get through this. She looked at the clock again. He still hadn’t arrived. She wondered if he really wanted to be at home in the first place. They weren’t having the best of times recently. They haven’t fought or anything. In fact they didn’t do much of anything at times. There were random sparks of what her relationship used to be. Of the completeness she used to feel, but these served to torment her more than help her out or give her hope. It was almost like she was chained. She didn’t want to leave because she didn’t think she could get better. Besides they could work through it. They could make it through anything. As she thought this again for the millionth time the thought came to her that she now stood as an antithesis to what she once was. She was chained to someone. Just like she never thought she would be. She was conquered. She wondered what her past self would say

She saw the way she was. A flower with a bad attitude and she frequently chained smoked and swore. She wore boy’s clothes and dyed her brown hair black and she got away with everything so she did anything. She stayed out late and came home drunk. She cheated, she was never faithful, and didn’t pretend to be. Sex to her wasn’t something that was someone owed only to one person everyone who got involved with her knew that. She was never jealous, of her lovers, nor did they get jealous of her, they were all just out for a good time.

But that all changed with Paul. In a ways she wished she met him later, maybe then he wouldn’t have had such an effect on her. In college she was so busy with him she eventually stopped publishing her liberal newspaper, stopped handing out and stopped petitioning fellow college members for change. She wasn’t politically active anymore. None of this happened right after each other of course. It happened so slowly she almost didn’t notice it.

Just like how Paul changed from the anti-establishment confident self assured teenager she once knew. His uniform was now a suit and tie on most days, and he worked for one of the largest corporations on the east coast. Just everything about his job was blending it. She figured this is what changed him. Once he sold his soul for a paycheck.

He was also very different in bed in love. He no longer held her like he once did. When he held her it was like he was hugging a relative. It seemed like everything that they did nowadays was to keep up appearances even when nobody was watching. They were more roommates who tolerated each other rather than people who were supposed to be married. She wondered just how many other people had to live this way. She was haunted; days were spent crying in a deep depression searching for a way out, wondering how she wondered into it. And now she could be stuck in this situation for the rest of her life.
“Why did you have to become a stranger? Why couldn’t you just stay the way you were?” she asked the empty room. The floor was wetted with salty drops as a pit of sadness welled in her chest. Her bare feet made a path for the window. Sobs echoed in her soul. There were no bars or tall fences but this was a prison. She rarely left the house, and now she would have even less of a reason to leave. She still didn’t see him as she watched the snow softly fall.

What would he do when she told him…she couldn’t do it…she couldn’t tell him. She knew that as soon as she told him she would be trapped forever. She looked in the mirror…her face was red with tears. Aged with years and lined with worries. Hair brown and tame no longer that black. She had to double as she thought she even saw some grey in it.
Was she trapped? Does she give up here and let the rest of her life be decided for her? She looked at the suitcase on her bed. She packed it months ago. It had somehow found its way out of the closet. It contained most of her clothes. She was living out of her suitcase, hand washing everything she owned and hanging it to dry inside the laundry. She hadn’t known why she done this…maybe it was her conscience sending her messages she chose to ignore up to that point. But now she had to go. She had to leave. She went to the bathroom. Wiped off the make-up she always wore for Paul. She had to leave. She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t face this life anymore. Couldn’t deal with all the [censored] she was dealing with. She grabbed the suitcases and the keys to a car that hadn’t left its spot in years. She couldn’t do it. And that’s when she knew that she shouldn’t. What she was going to do from then on she didn’t know. But she did know one thing.
She wasn’t going to tell Paul that she was pregnant.

[Pennyroyal Tea]

There is a reason why this story is called the middle. See if you can guess why.

[Hardcore]

I'm definitely reading this tomorrow.
Too bad, the surprise was ruined.

I blame you.

[Pennyroyal Tea]

You probably would've figured it out anyway. It's not an invisible monsters/like surprise. It's a fairly easy guess.

[Hardcore]

I read it. It's pretty good.

[Nyx]

Not bad.