His she mess

Having repeatedly been unfaithful to her, the guilt finally caught up with him. He took her aside, wined, dined and burped with her; they even danced. Then when the butterflies where wrecking havoc in her belly, he sat her down and phonetically broke it to her. She was a bit slow on the taking but he made her come around. He explained and drew graphs, pulled a calculator out of his suit and showed her with everything that he could; pie-charts, graphs, a poem, and a fifteen-page book…the message was simple but being the mess that he was, showmanship was his art. They could not be together. They just could not work.

Stuff was tight.
Things weren’t right.
Something was amiss.
There was no more bliss. 

She was still chewing on the message. He could see the cog-wheels in her head turn, the poorly-oiled cog-wheels, used to churning bits and pieces of information, now assailed with a big chunk to process. He sang her a song, a short one. He considered getting a local artist to do back-up vocals but then he thought better of it; what would Bebe Cool know about background vocals? Finally, the cog-wheels stopped turning. She got the message. It was over. She stood up to leave. Then she looked back at him. She grabbed him by the lapels and lifted him to his feet. She moved in close to his face, close enough for him to make out the color of her dilated pupils. He squirmed. Rentedmess squirmed. He gave her his ‘you better put me down else I kick you in the groin’ look. She gave him her ‘I am so going to kick you in the groin’ look. He gave her the ‘Let’s just be friends. It’s not like I sucked face with your best friend’. She, thinking. Him, squirming. Now this was getting tricky. Beads of sweat crept down his forehead. She lifted him even higher off the ground. All the while thinking about whether to end his balls’ anticipation and ‘Just kick ‘em’.

I had been watching all the drama through the corner of my eye. Fries are hard to swallow with such drama going on. I noticed her turn red in fury. Her usually puny arms flexed to their limit. Her braids standing on end. You could hear the poor guy’s heart beat from where I was seated. It sounded like a Rick Ross beat. Poor guy, not wanting to come off rude, didn’t wriggle-free of her clutch. Against everything in me, I stepped in. And I talked to her. And to him. And then I bribed him. And she let him down. And he scampered out. And she, well she ended up with me. And that Sonny, is how Monday massacres ended up with Sleek. In an open relationship. She’s really protective though. Word has it that Rented now wants to take a stab at her. It’s an open relationship. Just don’t leave the rubbers lying around.