He Said:
I'm sick. Soldier down. I always get a little depressed when I'm sick. I reject weakness and this flies in the face of my super hero self image. She complains that I need mothering. I shrug and face the wall. I'm thinking, "of course I DO, I'm lying here sick, and probably dying, aren't I?". It's safer to say nothing cause I'm too tired to plan an escape. She gets me the soup with a side of attitude, sighs, eye rolls. I hate this girl, and I hate that I cant break it off now.
She gets me the meds and asks if I need anything, half way out of the door already, impatient, "busy". I smile and shake my head. Cant talk. First item on the agenda when I recover...if I recover...change the locks and keep you on the other side.
She Said:
I don't know why weakness in men sends me running miles and miles away. I could blame the media, Hollywood or even my father, who never suffered a fate worse than a headache (so far touch, wood) and even then refused Panadol. I'm fortunate enough to have had the men in my life always be constant, enduring and solid. The thing is, I just don't know how to handle a helpess man. The debilitating weakness of mine, a stunting side-effect of my childhood, has probably always been the wall between me and true love. How can I fall when I cannot allow a man to be real? When my knight in shining armour came to rescue me in my dreams, he never got the flu. He just didn't. But there's man with a shoulder injury who massages the muscle often with his fingers, kneading the hurt away. When he does this, it makes me angry. I label it irritation at the flaw I can't cope with, until I realise, it makes me angry to see him in pain, and maybe, there's hope for me after all.
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