Desire

She wanted men to desire her, want her. Her boyfriend’s best friend, her ex-boyfriend; even though they had fallen out of love a long time ago.

She wanted to know what men thought when they looked at her. Were they staring at her even when she turned her back towards them, longing for her to turn around?

Would they write poems for her, and sing songs outside her balcony like in the movies? Would they fight for her like antelopes did for the female’s attention? She sure wanted them to do all that and more.

“That girl is checking you out” she said to her boyfriend sitting across the restaurant table. He turned around, “Not my type”. He smirked.

She was hoping he would do the same for her, but he never did. He was too busy being pleased with himself, to even notice her, leave alone noticing anyone noticing her.

She kept up a constant stream of compliments throughout dinner that day, but he didn’t budge.

It made her all the more desperate.

That night they made love, like never before. Of course he was ecstatic with all the compliments, and what better way to celebrate.

They sat smoking in bed, not talking as usual, and cuddling was out of the question.

“What if I was super ugly?”

No answer

“If I was fat or had a scar right across my face?”

“You don’t babe”

‘Babe’ was a first.

“So does that mean that we are here coz I’m not super ugly?”

“Oh wait that could mean I am a little bit ugly.. hmmmpphh”

“Oh please stop it with your word games”

He got up and left the room. She heard the TV 5 seconds later.

It was time, she knew; time for a change. There was no love left here.

She got dressed, stuffed her things in her bag. Without a word she kept his spare key and zippo on the coffee table and left. If he didn’t get it with the spare key, the returned zippo would surely deliver the message.

She just wished she didn’t have to deal with the “he is my ex” part. She wished she had no ex’s. That ,there was a better way to know who was right for her without getting involved.

She wouldn’t be alone for a long time, she convinced herself.

And she wasn’t. This guy would be perfect.

“I love it that you have broad shoulders” she said going back to her old tactics, with the new guy.

“Thank you. Your shoulders are pretty great too”

“Pretty great isn’t gonna cut it now, is it?

She was outraged at the lack of courtesy in the world. She smashed the glass of scotch in her hand.

“What is the matter with you?” he didn’t know whether to be shocked or scared

—————–

She woke up to a weirdly plain looking ceiling. She could not move her head, not even her hands and legs. She starched her eyes to look down and all she could see was a blue robe and a lot of blood stained bandages.

Her hands and feet were wrinkled. Did she have a disease? Was she dying? Where was the new guy?

Just then someone entered the room, and before she could say anything she fell off to sleep again.

This time when she woke up she could move her head around. The calendar on the wall said January 4^th 2035. She got up, remembering where she was. It was time for her carom game with the “new-old” guy, as she liked to call him.

The institution had changed many things, but she still wanted men to desire her. They were still staring even when she turned her back. She knew it.