Business

Patience is a virtue, is it not? Or maybe it's a vice...

I watch from the darkness, endlessly patient. Infinitely so, if I should be completely honest. I pride myself on many things, pride is one of my favorite sins, but my patience is at the top of my list. I've developed it and honed it over centuries. I need it, watching over you. If I hadn't been patient I would have been tempted to just finish you off. You come off all high and mighty, holier-than-thou. I've never liked that attitude. Nobody's perfect. Really, I should know. The thought makes me smile in the dark, just a sharp glint of teeth. You crane your neck and look in my direction. Oh, you can sense me, but you can't see me. Not yet. You're not quite ready, quite worthy yet. I smile again, careful not to show my teeth.

I drop in on you two weeks later. That's like the blink of an eye to me. Really, you didn't imagine I'd follow you around constantly? I've got other appointments, other things to juggle. But I do so with great skill, even if I say so myself. You're in the middle of a fight, and a vicious one to boot. She seems quite unhappy with you. Maybe you set the standards too high with her from the beginning? Now she expects you to always shower her with expensive gifts, to pay for vacations and spa treatments. I look her over and leer from the darkness. She is eye-catching, with that blonde hair, those blue eyes and those curves. Oh, those curves that would tempt even a saint! I'm definitely no saint. But neither am I easy to fool. I see straight through her, and the things I see makes me lick my lips for reasons most men wouldn't understand. You're not most men, on the other hand. If I should describe you with one word, it would be bland. You're so average it sets my teeth on edge. But the beginnings of desperation wafting from you is far from average. It lures me more than your wife's curves ever could. I edge a miniscule inch closer to you; out of the darkness. You're not ready yet, but I am.

I leave you to your business for a while, even though I'm always aware of you. I let you stay on the back-burner, simmer and stew for a while. A month, actually. During that time I do some business transactions, close a few lucrative deals, reap what I sow. I'm all for reaping and sowing; tasting the sweet fruits of victory and so on. But I feel the need to check in on you. You show such promise, I just can't leave you alone. You're at it again with your wife, and you still refuse to come clean. Come on man, just tell her you're on the brink of bankruptcy already! Oh, I forgot, then she'd leave you in a heart beat. I really don't get you. It's not like she's that big a prize. Maybe she's a wildcat in bed. Lust is something I can understand, even sympathize with. But from what I've observed it's been a long time since she'd let you get close. I close my eyes and breathe in your scent. What I detect makes a small chuckle escape me and your head whip around. Oh yeah, I'm coming closer, but you're not ready to see me yet. You're such a fool! To actually love a creature such as her, what were you thinking? It makes it so much easier for me, so much sweeter. If it weren't for the fact that you're still resisting I would have written you off as too easy.

I drop in on you unannounced as usual. It's late, you're in bed already. At least you're sitting on it. Your head's in your hands and you're bent almost double. Your body, so average, is wracked with heart-rending sobs. If I had a heart, a conscience, I'd probably feel sorry for you. But I don't, so instead I listen. Not to your crying, that's just pitiful. I listen to the crackling sound that is too faint for your ears to pick up. It's the sound of your soul beginning to crack, beginning to shatter. Ah, victory!

I just had to stop by. I've left you alone for almost two months now. What can I say; it's been a busy period. The moment I get close to you I can feel the waves of despair rolling off of you. The misery is palpable, like a dark miasma surrounding you. I step closer to you, breathing it in. It's a bittersweet nectar, better than the finest wine or spirit. At least any alcoholic spirit, that is. I overhear the conversation on the phone, where you're telling whoever you're talking to that you're close to broke and Candy'll be leaving you any day now. Really, where's your sense of style? Any male should know you never marry a woman named Candy. You use her, you play with her, you still your needs with her, but you don't marry her! But then you've always been gullible. It's your charm, and your downfall. I'm always willing to exploit a weakness when it benefits me. This definitely benefits me. You hang up and stare into nothingness. You look so bleak, so downcast. A chuckle escapes me and you spin around. Your eyes eyes seek out the exact spot where I stand and I know you're ready. I leave my gloomy shroud of darkness and step into the light, contract in hand. Your eyes widen in fear and dismay, but you hear me out. You barely grimace when I prick your finger, a single drop of ruby dripping down on the paper to seal the deal. Enjoy your new-won riches, and your cheap but expensive wife. You may even get another forty years. Don't mind me, I'm in no hurry. I'll wait. After all, forty years waiting for you is nothing compared to the infinity after that, which is for how long you'll be mine.