countless interviews."
The surprise on her face was evident even when she quickly composed herself to hide it. "I thought it was just a mugging?"
Martin shook his head but his nerve had failed. Standing up he took his cup over to the sink and began soaping it up with the dish wand. He washed it until there was no denying it was clean and then rinsed it in the scalding water till his hands were red and sore.
Watching the water race in circles down the drain, he felt Monica's hands wrap around his waist and he leaned back into her hug. Reaching over him she turned off the water and he sat the mug in the dish drainer to drip dry.
"I think we're going to do well, Martin Spadingle," Monica told him. "As long as you promise to only wear my high heels on special occasions and don't ever think about jumping in the river again."
"You drive a hard bargain but I'll see what I can do."
The snow outside thickened and they watched it bleach out the world like a TV screen with poor reception.
"You know, some study in one of my old classes said it takes 21 days to form a habit," Monica told him. "I've been thinking maybe 21 days isn't such a long time."
"It's also enough years to start drinking," Martin added.
"True, and we've already passed that milestone." She sighed, but it was a sound of contentment for once. "Maybe for 21 days I can pretend everything isn't fucked up and I don't still hate my bastard of a father for ruining my life and no one else for caring anymore. They're there for you during the worst of the aftermath with their gifts and there help and their foster homes and then they stop giving a damn whether you live or die."
"For 21 days I could pretend I'm the norm and everyone finds guys in sneakers and football
The surprise on her face was evident even when she quickly composed herself to hide it. "I thought it was just a mugging?"
Martin shook his head but his nerve had failed. Standing up he took his cup over to the sink and began soaping it up with the dish wand. He washed it until there was no denying it was clean and then rinsed it in the scalding water till his hands were red and sore.
Watching the water race in circles down the drain, he felt Monica's hands wrap around his waist and he leaned back into her hug. Reaching over him she turned off the water and he sat the mug in the dish drainer to drip dry.
"I think we're going to do well, Martin Spadingle," Monica told him. "As long as you promise to only wear my high heels on special occasions and don't ever think about jumping in the river again."
"You drive a hard bargain but I'll see what I can do."
The snow outside thickened and they watched it bleach out the world like a TV screen with poor reception.
"You know, some study in one of my old classes said it takes 21 days to form a habit," Monica told him. "I've been thinking maybe 21 days isn't such a long time."
"It's also enough years to start drinking," Martin added.
"True, and we've already passed that milestone." She sighed, but it was a sound of contentment for once. "Maybe for 21 days I can pretend everything isn't fucked up and I don't still hate my bastard of a father for ruining my life and no one else for caring anymore. They're there for you during the worst of the aftermath with their gifts and there help and their foster homes and then they stop giving a damn whether you live or die."
"For 21 days I could pretend I'm the norm and everyone finds guys in sneakers and football
