Frustration

It was another day like any other for me. I woke up to my long term girlfriend Cynthia rifling around in the dark, trying to dress without waking me.

“Sorry,” she would normally say when I turned on the light.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I murmured, still have asleep.

“I didn’t,” she replied, a sharp edge to her voice.

My eyes opened groggily, one hand still on the switch, ready to flip it off and disappear into oblivion for another hour or two.

I watched as she zippered together a business casual outfit over her lean frame, the body which kept me up last night.

“Do something useful today, would you?” she spat, not bothering to glance my direction.

“Cynthia-“ I called, but she was already out of the bedroom, ignoring me.

I rushed out of bed, never minding my birthday suit. Light from the living room poured in from open curtains, a view of a vibrant city stretching out below us.

“Don’t leave without telling me what’s the matter,” I said, skin shining neon white in the early morning glow.

She turned and looked at me, expression unreadable.

“Jake, come on. You should know exactly what I mean.” She flung a few things in the black backpack she took to work, then grabbed an orange from the bowel on our marble topped island.

“Cynthia, let’s talk for a moment. Did I say something…” I trailed off as she opened the apartment door quickly, stepping through.

“We’ll talk later.”

“Right,” I said, with a sigh.

My mood soured, I dressed and readied myself for the day with several mugs of coffee with another pot already on and waiting. I settled at my desk, tucked into the side of living room under one of the great windows and pulled out the novel I’d worked doggedly on.

I had two copies open, one on my laptop, the other a battered paper copy, much marked over with wrinkles and dog ears here and there. I grabbed an equally battered pair of spectacles and went to work with my pen. It was this copy that Cynthia found me working on that evening when she came home, the entire volume gone through twice more and edits made on the digital version.

She was silent when she came in, but threw her bag to the floor by the mud area.
“I hope your day was alright,” I said, work instantly forgotten.

She said nothing but strode to me, brandishing open envelopes in hand.

“Why do you keep at this?”
“Are those…”

“Rejections. Everyone. Here’s even one from your agent, Matt, who’s- according to you- the best ever! He says it’s hopeless too!” Cynthia was scowling over me, the tension in her body palpable through the air between us. She threw the envelopes on my desk and folded her arms, gazing at the lettering.

“I was… certain of Tibedeaux,” I said, staring at the return address.
“Yes, well, it seems like you were certain of a lot of things. I thought you always say, ‘Tell the truth, write the lie’ don’t you? Hasn’t been like that for awhile,” Cynthia snapped.

“You’re frustrated because I haven’t been able to finish this and get it sold yet?”
Cynthia unfolded her arms and crossed to the arm of the couch, perching there.
“Jake, I’m frustrated because it’s not working. We tried. It looked like things were going to work out, and don’t get me wrong, you sold some pieces and I’m so proud of you for that, babe. But…” she shook her head slowly, “We both know that I can’t keep carrying the both of us like this. We’re running out of money.”

I looked down at the manuscript, the culmination of hundreds of hours of effort. Pages bleeding red in my hands built of parts of my human soul, ground up and painstakingly etched together.

“I… maybe if we can make it a few more weeks. I… know a few other people…”
Cynthia brought a hand to her eyes, tears beginning to drop from behind her hand.

“Jake,” she said, her voice becoming strained and high. “This is me telling you, I can’t be okay with this anymore. I don’t even… you don’t seem to understand how this has changed things. You don’t seem to understand how many more hours I’ve been working, how much effort I’ve put into this too.”
“I thought it…” I glanced at the clock, realizing she was three hours late coming home. “I figured you went out with Sadie or one of the girls…”
“That’s what I said so you wouldn’t be worried,” Cynthia said, wiping her eyes. “But for the past couple weeks, I’ve been working over to try and finish some extra assignments. I’ll be eligible for a quarter bonus if my team closes three more cases.”

“Cindy, babe, I didn’t know that… I swear, I didn’t know you were working that much harder because of this,” I said.

“I just want us to be okay. I want you to succeed and follow your dreams too…” she said, folding her arms. “But I need us to be okay.”

I looked round at the living room, my make shift office in the sky. I glanced at the marred pages, curling and bubbling in some places with redone revisions.

“You know…” I said, a surge of swirling emotion tugging me in different directions.

“Okay, baby.” I crossed the space between us and embraced her, feeling a few warm tears on her cheek.

“I’m sorry things haven’t worked out,” I mumbled in her ear.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just… wanted you to focus and hoped it would…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll call Greg tomorrow and see if there’s an opening. If not… I’ll figure something out.”
Cynthia broke away from me, smiling.
“You can still work on it after work, or maybe on the weekends,” she said. “You never know, babe. It might be a smash.”

“You’re right,” I nodded, gazing at the end of a lackluster sunset, grey cobblestones threading through towering buildings in the west.

“I’ll order us some take out if you’re okay with it.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” I said, settling back at my desk.
“I’ve just got to finish one thing.” I flipped through a few pages.

“Do you want sesame or orange chicken?” Cynthia called from the bedroom.

“Tell the truth… write the lie,” I mumbled, scribbling quickly.

“What?”
“Orange!”