With that remark I realised she was about as sharp as a butterknife and I settled in for the long afternoon that lay ahead.
Most of the girls I knew could barely hold a glass of water. Eileen however, could hold an entire conversation.
She only had eyes for him and would gaze at him longingly, adoringly, unendingly. Her eyes forever sought his silent reassurance that he was different, not like the others before him, that he would not break her heart.
She found it. I knew it wasn’t there
She flung her trust at him, desperately hoping it would find something, anything to cling onto for to doubt him meant to be alone and that was something she could not bear.
She knew he was drawn to her beauty. She was breathtakingly beautiful and maybe that was all he was drawn to in her, she wasn’t sure. All she was certain of was that he wanted her to be his, to own her. She was afraid his desire would not last and so every day she dressed herself up for maximum effect then go out and tease him, mock him and provoke him with her body.
He was consumed by her. she filled his thoughts, his dreams, his prayers. He’d rather have been shot than ever let her know. It was a game they played, one which they hoped the other would lose.
She had to win before she became old and ugly and undesirable.
He had to win if only to remain sane.
I was bored and cold and lonely. I supposed she had been fucked by many men before and idly wondered if she would like to get fucked by one more. Would it make a difference to her ……………to me?
Ode to a fallen soldier:
They sent me to a foreign land
To deliver death to a foreign man
