Indifference

A Story by spop

Short story depicting the reflections on a romance.

She liked the smirk at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. Unfortunately, apart from his pretty face, the words he spoke in eloquent sentences were still disagreeable. It was not a surprise; to find this courtship cut, abruptly. It was displeasing, yes, but he said, himself that these things happen. Unfortunately, she was not in the shape she envisioned. It did plague her mind, whether this padded form would garner validation, for sex and romance, not purely conversation. Ok, she knew sex was possible for most; appearances were often overlooked once one was in need. The fact his thighs rubbed together, too, comforted her. He was choking down pills for fueled fat-loss. Even though the supplements were unnecessary, at least he made an effort. So, when they rolled on the grass, at heat, thoughts were autonomous, saved from any self-consciousness that would impair performance.

To ruffle her hands in his hair, and give tender kisses, they could release the timetabled tension. The leniency of his soft hair was compensating for his lack of compassion in life, for he chose contempt often, in his outward expressions. His tongue was shark in its dismissals. He did not even consider; he expected response, he said, but did not breathe a two-part conversation. He would then pause when her opinion was indifferent. That was for computer games, surplus supplementation and mobile phone specifics. He liked conversations the other player knew little about, to exude his prowess " or ability to demonstrate prompt coherency at an uneven topic that tires player two.

He did not give to charitable causes, with admirable words. He rejected their use. Any empathy was irrelevant to his terms. Any “ism,” Marxism, feminism, veganism, was for brain-f***s, blinded by bureaucratic beliefs. Yes, there was caring, but he wanted to expand his knowledge on his self-interests. Very ambitious he was, with ideas he did not sow. He was a conversationalist he said, not good with written words. Yet, his discussions neglected asking; the absence of consideration continued till all his said supplies were exhausted. Probably, when he said he enjoyed her company, he was referring to the presence of another body to practice on.

He had said attraction was unapparent, in his case. Asexual suggestions, she assumed, that were more reasoned to played effects than what he felt. How can this be for someone with a semi-masturbation addiction? For a particular porn-watcher, who prefers hairless p*****s? Soon enough, he told her he was attracted to her, he concluded, after he considered it. The subsequent meeting led to the grass stains.

He gives himself a Schizoid self-diagnosis- for a guy who sought out social interactions, when alone. In actuality, she recognizes the confusion in his evaluations. To know oneself is a challenge much greater than carelessly generating hypotheses of others. He groups and categorizes. Friendly smiles suggest eagerness to please. Agreeability too. He says he’s not looking for anything. He questions attraction, but contradicts himself the more they spend time together. It doesn’t matter, now. None of it does.

When he looked at his phone, as they sat on the step to Reagent’s Park, she pressed her head on his shoulder, and he pursed his lips against her head. She intertwined herself tightly into his arm, into his physical strength. He was a keen squatter: he specifically set gym-time to complete weighted squats, ambitious squats. When they met, he said he was to forgo all sitting, for his health. Then when she later sat on a bench, he moved closer and changed his mind, in the spirit of affection.

She was often disappointed by what he said, what he thought, but she still wanted him. He knew how to balance passion and tenderness in one session; he could grab her hair, pull her closer, with a rampant tongue, and yet, he would also purse his lips for tender pecks. They were in-sync sexually. He had a useful tongue; shame, his fingers weren’t the same. Perhaps she should have known when she saw his hands: stubby fingers, and a childish grasp that did not know its way around kittens.

Any reflection would foreshadow what he came to be, to her. He showed what he was. She chose to seek the likeness, even if it was in comparison to her younger self: life had let her outgrow the antagonism and agitation of outperforming peers. His high school spite was spoken of too often. He told her how he simply stopped his friendships. That’s what he does. He preferred a social life centered on the unreliability of an elder brother-to guide him, toy him.

Leaving the park, they headed for the nearest convenience store, with no true sense of direction. The tourist map boards directed to the cultural highlights instead. He checked his phone once more and led the way. After a fair few minutes, they weren’t sure. He asked a passing lady, who offered too much thought and insight into simple directions. That was sad, he said, offering such spare time to strangers.

They continued; he congratulated himself, verbose, along the way. Now that he was hungry, he spoke of his aptitude at finishing 50 per cent of a group’s food without anyone noticing: an art form, indeed. An apt appetite for a growing mind, topped up with nootropics. Every morning, he would refute regurgitation of the dozen of concoctions he spent the majority of his money on. His room was a haven of eccentric gel pills and powders for gym enthusiasts. He had said he was bent on personal development, when they met. That ignited her interest, progress in the world starts with oneself. In actuality, what she found was a child looking to argue any views, to better the argument, and establish his dominance. Even he defined himself as brash, prone to ramble and unclear. And he didn’t care about anyone.

He was fascinated with magic. And body language. They were fundamental to one another, of course. The subject must trust the magician, or the illusion will crumble. From the beginning, she said she liked surprises, and he was one. If he were unclear would that add mystery? Yet, even this short courtship ended up agreeing with her intuition, his responses became typical of his character: cut cold in theme, nothing about what he had to say was in her interest. Except the general knowledge she could read up on. His free will of opinion was callous. Still, he had spoken of his fundamental depression, darkness he was only just emerging from. That left her empathetic.

They found the corner shop. Bottled water: 2 liters for £2.09. Too much, he said. Luckily, frugality was something they both appreciated. They turned left outside the shop and continued walking down to a main road. They crossed the street to find a selection of shops. £1.69. Not the best, but it would suffice. They shared the bottle, and locked lips some more.

The tube was approaching. “What do you think, about this?” she said.

He looked at her, pensive. “We have to get on,” she continued, as they boarded.

The carriage was relatively packed, but they had enough space to stand. He was next to the doors, whilst she faced him, holding the upper handle.

“I don’t know.” He said.

“Do you think we are compatible?”

“I enjoy spending time with you. I don’t know what I’m looking for. As I said, I’m not too good with emotions. “

“I mean, f you don’t tell me how you feel, I won’t know. I can’t guess what you’re thinking.”

“I’d say I am not a very good romantic investment, but I think you should decide. It’s a bad thing to say because it takes two, but you know. Indifference isn’t a good thing for something which should be pure, wholehearted…either way, I enjoy your company.”

They spoke in near whispers, to avoid eavesdroppers. Once they gazed at each other, she noticed she had never seen that much emotion in his eyes before. Opening his lips, he said: “Who knows? People are dynamic anyway. Just explaining why I am a bad emotional investment: because I am prone to change, hopefully at least.“

The train had reached his station. Neither wanted the moment to end, or the conversation to stop. He opened his arms to gesture for a hug. They held each other for that moment. Her considerations classed it as one tender moment to recall, as her journey continued.