[Dr. Hatred]
"Feel a fraction of my pain," he said.
And I did: running around pitching his pitch, trying to sway disinterested parties of the grandeur of his ideals. He'd wanted to tell me about his PhD days where he spoke, again and again, in front of practically empty auditoriums, where he was at times interrupted, dismissed, and asked to leave, but I wasn't paying attention - I couldn't tell him, in fact, I was distracted by the shape of his left ear. Sure - I wanted to bite him, but he'd explicitly said no. So I'd said to him, look, I want an arbalest for my birthday as we huddled in bed and streamed Kinji Fukasaku's Battle Royale on my laptop. "You mean a crossbow," he corrected. Arbalest, I insisted.
I'd never imagined a life of normalcy, especially with someone like him. Work a desk job, pay taxes, get a mortgage loan, buy a house, have children, eat vegan. Be a part of his family portrait. "Girls like you," he said, then he pointed to his over-sized freezer filled with imported meat and ice-cream, I shrugged, he wasn't wrong. It's a comforting thought, I'd said to him, knowing for a fact I won't live past 30 - liberating, even. He said nothing - he just smiled and played with the Caran A'ache pen I'd gifted him, the grey one in steel with his initials engraved.
I didn't recall a moment we shared that was remotely unpleasant - even when he said "you're terrible in bed", we both laughed - Point taken.
Let's hope my contact in Kiev pulls through, I said, that would make the perfect birthday gift.
"Silly baby," he replied.
