In the car behind the man of shadows and fugue and the lady of passion and hope, sit I, the betrayer, and you, the betrayed. Or is it the other way around? In contrast to their harmony, their longing, we simmer in silence, the gulf we brokered in life persisting long after. Too long is this train ride, this journey with no destination. Yet, though we are fated to suffer eternity together, neither of us will be the first to speak. Neither of us wants to be the first to apologize for the sins that distance us.
Outside the window, I watch the train rattle through nothing, through darkness. Once we passed over ocean and in each drop we watched our lives disintegrate again and again, refreshing our anger, reminding us of what cruel hell it was to be for. In each drop we saw…
I enter our home to a strange rhythmic noise, a musk in the air. Even before I can process it, my nose tells me what transpires. I creep into the bedroom, saying nothing. Waiting for you to notice me. Our eyes meet, and you do not stop.
Even in the throes of passion you are so cruel.
Now the ocean is gone, or at least is obliterated by the black that looms absolute beyond our windows. I turn from the night, dissatisfied, and regard you. Stern lips bound in a tight line. You look right at me, as though anywhere or anyone else would do to set your gaze. Alas, there is no other option. Nothing but the object of your scorn. There is nowhere for us to flee, the door is locked (we both tried in in stony silence when we first arrived). It seems that God, or whoever placed us here, is determined to let us marinate in this suffering.
Anger grasps me, not like a hot lance but a cold storm, one that's been brewing in my suspicions for months, if not years. How many betrayals have I overlooked? How many apologies am I owed? I turn my back on the two of you, joined as one flesh in a way we never were. Retreat to my study where I grab…
…two, three bangs. Two, three angry flashes of sulfur and light and there we sat on a train. Alone.
"So…" I relent, finally speaking before madness and boredom consume me completely, finally resigning myself to offering the first olive branch.
"…What do we do now?"