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Game / Set / Match
His voice: “He didn’t deserve to die” slightly strained and humbled.
“Why not?” Cold, detached as limbs.
Stronger: “He was your friend.”
Accent: “Your friend.” Just a twinge of envy, easy to mask. Your special friend.
“He cared about you.”
“He left me there.” Cover your rage. Pregnant pause; shrug: “So did you.”
Sigh.
He won’t argue. There’s no use. They’ve been over this before. “It had nothing to do with secrets, did it?”
Genius.
“It was about me.”
Scoff. He speaks the truth. Mask: “Don’t flatter yourself.”
See-through. He’s spent five years seeing through masks. “That isn’t an answer.” A satisfactory smile, a glace at the grave; smile fades.
“Tell me--” The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god. There is no god. “You’re insane. You don’t feel. You’ve murdered your friend.”
Your friend. Special.
“Why do you care?”
Confused. “Care?” Not ignorant, just confused; he’s always playing mind games. Even then. Even when.
“You know no love or happiness or joy or hope or faith or anything around those and while you claim to be insane you know anger and hate and rage and you care what happens to us. You care, that we never get our happy endings.”
Genius. Stupid.
Laugh. “Don’t you see, Jarod? There are no happy endings. There wasn’t for you and Eddie” grim disgust. Mask: “There isn’t for you and mom” Mockery. “There isn’t for you and her.”
“What do you intend?” He’s better at the mask. He’s learned from the best.
“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be much fun, would it?”
His plan: the most important thing.
He gets it now.
“You won’t win.”
Eddie was important:
"What are you doing?"
They button their shirts quickly and in the dark.
“Nothing, Alex,” Jarod swears. Eddie smiles and touches his lips with his fingers for days.
She is more.
Nothing more than what we have now, Jarod.
He can’t have her.
No one can.
Eddie.
“You’re slipping,” he says with a laugh.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“Luck.”
But he just shakes his head. “You won’t win.”
Right now it’s about the game. The better man, the smarter man. It’s about winning and losing and retribution.
"What are you doing?”
Flashbacks fuel their purposes. It’s a race.
“We’ll see.”
He’s gone.
One more look at the grave –short breathing, tentative smiles, soft fingers– he puts the memories away and turns his back.
This isn’t about Eddie. Not for him.
A number dialed, a curt answer.
“Miss Parker, it’s me.”
Let the game end here.
+ + +
end
Game / Set / Match
His voice: “He didn’t deserve to die” slightly strained and humbled.
“Why not?” Cold, detached as limbs.
Stronger: “He was your friend.”
Accent: “Your friend.” Just a twinge of envy, easy to mask. Your special friend.
“He cared about you.”
“He left me there.” Cover your rage. Pregnant pause; shrug: “So did you.”
Sigh.
He won’t argue. There’s no use. They’ve been over this before. “It had nothing to do with secrets, did it?”
Genius.
“It was about me.”
Scoff. He speaks the truth. Mask: “Don’t flatter yourself.”
See-through. He’s spent five years seeing through masks. “That isn’t an answer.” A satisfactory smile, a glace at the grave; smile fades.
“Tell me--” The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god. There is no god. “You’re insane. You don’t feel. You’ve murdered your friend.”
Your friend. Special.
“Why do you care?”
Confused. “Care?” Not ignorant, just confused; he’s always playing mind games. Even then. Even when.
“You know no love or happiness or joy or hope or faith or anything around those and while you claim to be insane you know anger and hate and rage and you care what happens to us. You care, that we never get our happy endings.”
Genius. Stupid.
Laugh. “Don’t you see, Jarod? There are no happy endings. There wasn’t for you and Eddie” grim disgust. Mask: “There isn’t for you and mom” Mockery. “There isn’t for you and her.”
“What do you intend?” He’s better at the mask. He’s learned from the best.
“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be much fun, would it?”
His plan: the most important thing.
He gets it now.
“You won’t win.”
Eddie was important:
"What are you doing?"
They button their shirts quickly and in the dark.
“Nothing, Alex,” Jarod swears. Eddie smiles and touches his lips with his fingers for days.
She is more.
Nothing more than what we have now, Jarod.
He can’t have her.
No one can.
Eddie.
“You’re slipping,” he says with a laugh.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“Luck.”
But he just shakes his head. “You won’t win.”
Right now it’s about the game. The better man, the smarter man. It’s about winning and losing and retribution.
"What are you doing?”
Flashbacks fuel their purposes. It’s a race.
“We’ll see.”
He’s gone.
One more look at the grave –short breathing, tentative smiles, soft fingers– he puts the memories away and turns his back.
This isn’t about Eddie. Not for him.
A number dialed, a curt answer.
“Miss Parker, it’s me.”
Let the game end here.
+ + +
end
