The Weak

by Tamar Richardson

*

She took another sip of vodka. It burned going down. Unfortunately, it wasn't strong enough to burn away the pain in her heart. Why had he even bothered with her? What could that one week have gotten him?

"We never talk." She had heard it loud and crystal clear through the telephone. The phone: he didn't even have the decency to tell her to her face.

"We never talk." She took yet another sip of the sweet vodka. What had he meant? He had given her a week... How could he tell after only a week? She knew he was lying. He had lied to her from the beginning.

He had lied to her about when he had broken up with the girlfriend from before her. He lied to her when he had said, "I'm interested in you and you alone." He lied to her he had called her "an interesting and wonderful person." He most of all lied when he said, "I'm sorry."

She put the glass in the sink and went off to bed. She cried and wallowed in her self-pity for maybe three hours, letting out all the pain that vodka hadn't cured. As she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but think what a waste of a week this had been.

*