What is Love... baby, don't hurt me...

By Antonios Maltezos



”Neanderthal!”

I think she’s saying it has something to do with my skull, the bones of my face.

“We aren’t meant for each other. You never put the seat down,” she says, shaking her head. “And I can’t keep wiping your crumbs off the counter.”

“But they’re not my crumbs,” I say. “I’ve stopped eating.”

“Don’t you understand?” she screeches, squeezing her fist, her painted nails like dripping blood.

“I do,” I whisper. She wants me gone from here, but I'm weakened from malnourishment, and my heart is palpitating, my lips pursed as if I want a kiss. I’m not feeling very well. She pauses with me, and then jumps as if she’s on fire. Freaks right out, saying she hates me. She hates me.

I know. I want to tell her that I know, but there’s something halting about the way she pulls at her hair rather than tear me to pieces -- stops my breath.

(originally published at Quicktion online.)