Why Gemïny

*Excerpts from "Victorias Secret"

An alarming heartbeat, vibrated against my leg. A notification from read: “can you pick me up? It’s an emergency” 

“What’s wrong?” a simple reply, “send the addy." 

comments undermining a "small" wreck pursued -- a massive understatement. A tiny red dot appears on the screen: only a mile away. Not too far. But a sense of obligation consumed me. wrist twisting between the cusp of the other. Completely aloof to the fact the phone was shining a disturbing, almost violent, luminescence broadcasting every pleading text. Starring blankly at the screen as the TV reflects a young Amy reaching climax before slitting the throat of her lover. little did I realize the parallels as I sat with another her head laid pressed against my thigh while my wrist -- still turning between an ever tightening grip of the other. The friction causing a torrid sizzle to sear through the skin until finally my clutch like a vice forces the disorient to a jarring halt. 

I really have to go. 

Nevertheless, It was at this moment, that she removed her shirt and flung it across the room into the kitchen. it descended gracefully like a priceless rose petal caught in the wind. swaying elegantly until it arrived delicately atop the faucet, and... i don’t know... she released the voluptuous essence of her bosom or something. I wasn’t paying her any attention. 

“I’m a little ways out give me 30 mins.” I replied, as a stray hand delicately slid up my arm. As she slowly stalked over me like a tiger hovering over its prey. 

The alarming cadence of my heartbeat rang, another message. “Just hurry. Please.” 

I could hear the anguish emanating from every letter of her message 

I returned my phone to my pocket and turned, failing to conceal the concern and pure distress in my eyes. nevertheless, She placed a hand on my chest and purred, “ Do i have your attention now?” 

I took her hand in mine, holding it firmly as the fluttering beats of my heart, like a butterfly pleading to break free, raged within my chest. Relentless, dismal thoughts flooded my mind, as my concern grew fervently. I calmly placed Tigs hand on the sofa, and said plainly, “I have to go.” I stood up and walked towards the door with a tense urgency. 

I had just managed to reach the kitchen counter when an outburst erupted from her lips, “Wait!” I could hear it through her tremulous voice. The bead of water that was beginning to swell. “It’s her, isn’t it?” She inquired with a tone of certainty that made the statement feel like a declaration rather than a question. I turned my head slightly, just enough to make out the vivacious animation of her movements as the well filled to the brim. Swelling in anticipation of the great flood as distraught air began to wheeze out from her lungs. “It’s always her!” She exclaimed as the water began to stream down her cheeks with a subtle sway that left waving streaks descending from her now blush cheeks. She grabbed a plate in one hand and wailed. 

... 

I pushed myself away, wrapping her shirt around my hand; now drenched in the crimson ink that wept profusely from its creases. there was no time to comprehend everything that had been said as the dam that once repressed the murky memories of the past suddenly burst open. I was flooded with emotions of rage, fear, betrayal -- raw anguish. But there was no time to process as I turned the ignition and sped to the crash site. 

Two primal questions ran through my mind as I raced to the exit. “What were you thinking?” And “how are you feeling?” What could make someone so seemingly pure do something so maniacal? So conniving? So contorted? 

But as I look back, they were both dumb questions. There was only one correct question in this situation: 

“what had we done to each other?”